Who am I?
by epsi10n
Summary: Eager for more power, Galbatorix tried to create the first dragon Shade. The spirit he'd summoned, the Master of Death, took pity on the poor dragon and merged their souls rather than simply taking control of the body. Now with a mind to match his rage, the new Shruikan plans to dish out justice while he searches for his new Name. (Disclaimer: I own nothing)
1. Chapter 1

Shruikan opened his eyes by a hair's width as the door soundlessly opened, and promptly closed them again as his master approached. He wondered why his master even bothered. After all, he'd been laying here for centuries, pretending to be asleep, and would most likely continue on like this for centuries more. He failed to see what another spell to enhance his strength would accomplish. But Shruikan didn't wonder for very long. There was no point in thinking either.

_Rejoice, my steed, for today you will become more powerful than ever_, his master thought to him. As expected. He waited for a tendril of thought to look into his mind for a reaction, but none came. There was hardly anything to see, in any case. Whatever coherent thoughts he had was drowned out by black rage and the fiery thirst for destruction. It had been with him since he was a child, had grown as he grew, and had become as familiar to him as his name.

It didn't mean he liked it.

Shruikan was helpless as he felt the spirits reach up to him, their icy touch assaulting his mind. Instinctively he tried to push them away, but he knew it was a matter of time before he would be overpowered. As the last of his defences shatter, he begged with all his will for the spirits to be kind, and spare him the little sanity he had left…

Ritual completed, Galbatorix checked his dragon for any signs of change. He was not entirely surprised, though mildly disappointed, to find none. Shades have never been created from dragons before, after all. Still, there was no reason that he couldn't be the exception. He always had been, after all.

If he had left the chamber a second later, he would have seen the pair of blue eyes snap open.

* * *

Drifting through the timeless emptiness of the ether, the one known in life as Harry Potter felt the barrier between himself and the living realm open yet again. Yet another imbecile was attempting to tap the spirits' power for his own gains, but spirits were never so easily manipulated. Already, the darkest, cruelest spirits swarmed toward the beacon. It was not difficult to predict what would happen next: the call would be answered, then the summoner would be crushed into oblivion.

He was about to direct his attention elsewhere when he caught a glimpse of the mind on the other side. This one was different, he noticed. This one was far from pure, but surprisingly innocent. Almost like a child that grew up too soon. It did not struggle or try to move away, yet it was clearly held there by someone else's will. It had not interest in the spirits. It did not want wealth, or power, or any other things that the living souls often demanded from the spirits. Yet, the one thing it wanted, and had always wanted, was something the spirits could not give.

Or was it?

The Master of Death reached for the tortured mind, easily parting the maimed fragments of souls that tried to grope their way back into the world of the living. In life they were the most vicious, the most powerful, the most terrible beings, whose name no one dared to mention. In death, however, they were mere wisps of smoke. Barely existing, yet not quite gone.

Spirits cannot remember in the underworld, but they begin to recall things in proximity to the living realm. Something about this soul was reminding him vaguely of a very familiar story, and he would hate to see it become a vessel of evil. The child on the other side, a puppet of fate, would be manipulated no more.

Whispering a gentle reassurance, he merged with the light.

* * *

The first thing he felt was anger. Unfocused anger laced with fear and revolt swirled around him, blocking out his senses and preventing him from thinking clearly.

Next came the memories.

The life of the body he inhabited slammed against him like Fiendfyre. He was stolen as a hatchling by the Oath Breaker king. He had a perverted sort of "bond" forced upon him with dark magic. He was the test subject for many twisted and painful experiments, all to make him more destructive as a weapon. And he was forced to obey, even assist in the slaughter of his own kin. When the last of the memories settled, he had no more doubt that the anger was his own.

_Peace, he told the other presence_ – no, more like another part of himself – _we must stay calm if we're to do any meaningful damage_. Habitually, he established a mental agenda similar to the ones aurors used on missions.

_Step 1: Find my bearings._

He was unbound and free to move, although the ceiling was too low for him to stand at his full height. Neither could he find any magical wards upon prodding his surroundings. There was a time, he recalled, when the king would force his way into his mind and will him to behave. Then when he was slightly older his true name had been discovered, and that alone sufficed to keep him docile. But he could feel that something was different now. As a merger of two souls, his purpose must have changed. In other words...

His blue eyes widened as he realized its implication. Surely his name would've changed as he had changed! He carefully strengthened the thin shield in the innermost part of his mind until it became an impenetrable sanctuary, for his new identity and the precious speck of hope.

The large window in the dragonhold was warded against intruders like the rest of the castle, but it was hardly designed to prevent his exit. He wobbled slightly as he rose to a low crouch. There was a dull ache in his legs and wings. When was the last time he'd moved them?

_Step 2: Escape._

He had to fight down the burning desire to provoke the Oath Breaker into a confrontation, which in his current disoriented and weakened state would've been most unwise. Silently, he pushed off and vanished into the night sky.

* * *

**AN: The premise of this story is inspired by the HP+inheritance fanfic "Last Wish and Testament", by Silent . Storm. You'll find it if you take off the M rating filter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry this one's so short. I tried to combine it with either the previous chapter or the next, but it didn't really fit.**

* * *

_Get that oversized lizard of yours to land. I found something important._ Brom sounded annoyed, even for his usual irritable self. Eragon reluctantly asked Saphira to land. Who would've thought that flying could be so wonderful? He could still feel the wind in his hair, the ground a blur beneath him. Never in his life had he felt so free…

Looking around, he realized that he was in a sizable clearing. Brom was waving at him impatiently while pointing at a spot in the grass. "Here," he said when he finally broke Eragon out of his reverie, "look at the ground and tell me what you see."

There were long, parallel gouges in the ground, as if the soil had been ripped apart. Eragon thought they looked familiar, but couldn't place where he'd last seen them except… "I've no idea," he shrugged, "When I look at them I can think of nothing but dragon prints. What are they really?"

"Oddly enough, the most plausible explanation I can offer is your own. If you consider their length and spacing, whatever made these must be larger than Saphira. Such a creature must be known to society," Brom scratched his chin, "Of course, it might also be possible that someone used a rake. Maybe something's buried here."

"It would be a decent hiding place, I suppose. No one comes here ever," Eragon eyed the patch dubiously. Most of the clearing was covered by grass, making it impossible to identify footprints. Aside from the deep troughs, the soil appeared firm and undisturbed. If there was really treasure underground, it would've been from some time ago. "I wonder what it is?"

That had been the wrong question to ask, for Brom predictably smirked and instructed him to lift the soil with magic. And, since he was only strong enough to lift a tiny chunk at a time, the task ended up occupying his entire morning. At late noon, a sweating Eragon and Brom peered down into the empty hole.

Well.

"Ha! Nothing. 'It'll be good practice' my foot..." Eragon grumbled. Wiping his brows, he tried to remember what the gouges had looked like before he'd mutilated them. Had there really been a dragon here? Saphira, who had been watching him labor with a bored expression, was craning her head to look into the hole. "I thought Saphira is the only dragon alive?"

For a moment he thought he saw sadness and longing flicker over Brom's face, but it was gone so soon that he must've imagined it. "It is most curious, yes. The king will not deploy his own dragon at such an early stage. It's possible that he managed to hatch one of the other eggs, but why the new dragon would be flying over the Spine is beyond me."

"So what do we do?"

Brom shrugged. "We can't do anything without any information to go on. Perhaps we might find out when we reach the next settlement. Come, let's get back to camp."

Eragon nodded and relayed their discussion to Saphira, who hummed thoughtfully. She wondered if she'd finally meet one of her kin, and whether there was another Rider. _Murderers' dragons have not the galls to fly over these forests. The Vardens must have managed to steal an egg._

_Maybe, but didn't Brom say it's virtually impossible now? Whoever the Rider is, we have to be careful._

_You need not worry for me. I will keep myself hidden, though I still say the Rider is a friend. No dragons would hatch for the murderers. _

_I don't know why,_ Eragon thought, _but somehow I feel… relieved. Like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders._

_It is the weight of destiny. The possibility of another good Rider means that you will not be alone._ Moments like these made Eragon remember how wise she was.

They were silent for a while. _If I am a big sister, _Saphira said smugly, _I will teach the young ones all they need to know as daughters of the sky._

And Eragon remembered again how young she was.


	3. Chapter 3

**I thought I read somewhere that Shruikan's eyes were blue, as much as I wanted them to be green lol**

* * *

"M-Merlin…"Harry-Shruikan could swear he'd never been so shocked before, not once in his two pasts.

He'd been flying over what he remembered to be the Spine for several days, stopping only once to hunt and twice to rest. He wanted to move as far away from his prison as fast as possible, for one, but he couldn't bring himself to land in any case. Both his lives could rightfully be called "sons of the sky", and he longed to take to the air once more. He could turn, roll, and dive at every whim. He could feel the wind rushing against his face, and see the world spiraling around him. It was an added bonus that no one was chasing him this time… yet.

As it was, the admittedly small clearing he'd just landed in had trapped him there. He couldn't take off without possibly injuring himself on the treetops and the forest was too thick for him to navigate on foot. He'd misjudged his own size, he'd realized. If only he was smaller, he'd thought…

Was that when he'd somehow become human?

He needed to see himself. _Aquamenti, _he thought almost instinctively, and a stream of water fell from his wand hand to form a sizable puddle. Reflected in it was the face of Harry Potter on the day he died, a day he remembered well. They had been celebrating his 30th birthday. Ginny was lighting the last candle on his cake when he'd received a patronus from the auror headquarters. A serial killer had been discovered, and his team needed its captain.

They'd chased the man up and down the streets of Diagon Alley, he remembered. Then, just when victory was in sight, the deranged wizard had whirled around. "Avada kedavra!" the man had screamed desperately, and an all-too-familiar bolt of green had shot toward Harry even as he disarmed the perpetrator. He'd had enough time to dodge it, he supposed, but he couldn't. A young girl had appeared out of one of the shops, and was standing directly behind him. He'd had to stand in place and watch the green ripple against his chest. Thus, on its master's birthday, Death had claimed its Master as its own.

Harry-Shruikan peered into the puddle again, more carefully this time. He had Harry's body, except with Shruikan's blue eyes in place of Harry's green ones. He also noticed that all his scars were gone, even the infamous one on his forehead. It seemed he was finally free from their burdens.

He was wearing a standard black cloak, like the ones he used to wear to work, over black shirt and trousers. His shoes were made of an unknown material that reminded him of hard leather. Somehow there was a sword on his belt. It was narrow and silver like Griffindor's sword, but instead of large glistening rubies it had a single cracked black stone on its hilt. He would've easily mistaken it for obsidian, if he hadn't already seen it in his past.

He'd wondered about the fate of the Deathly Hallows before, whenever the living world opened up to the realm of the spirits. The elder wand would've lost its power, he knew, since the duellers had simultaneously defeated each other. The cloak would've been passed down to his son James. Now, either to spite him or to help him, or perhaps because he was a spirit himself, the resurrection stone had followed him here.

He was remarking on how his cloak somewhat resembled his wings when curiosity overtook him. If he could shift form one way, surely he could shift back? He concentrated hard on Shruikan's form as he vanished the water and, a second later, roared in pain as his massive right wing slammed against a tree truck. Trust his dismal luck to follow him here as well.

He transformed back and forth until he felt fully in control. _Step 3: know my strengths and limitations._

As Shruikan he had the advantage in size, brute force, and battle experience. In his past he'd been dimly aware from Galbatorix's thoughts that "one egg had been stolen", and he'd shielded his hope that it was safe. Now, with more room to think, he suspected that more eggs were held in Uru'baen. He shuddered to think of them being twisted by magic as he had been, and then having to fight them for sanity's sake.

As Harry he would be hopeless in physical combat, though he might be quick-footed enough to evade his opponents. He knew an adequate amount of words in the Ancient Language - all of which were too powerful for a beginner like him to practice. Fortunately, it seemed that he'd retained his ability to perform wandless spells, meaning that he had at least ten spells at his service. As an experiment he pointed at the tree that scraped his wing earlier and muttered "Stupefy!", but no jet of red light flew from his fingers. O-kay, only ten spells then.

Which made him very grateful for his new sword. Learning how to use it, however, was another story. The common people in Alagaesia could hardly defend themselves, let alone teach another. The only way for him to receive training was by joining the army, and he would never allow himself to fall under the king's control again.

"So I can cast ten spells, fly and breathe fire," he muttered, "that's a decent start." He levitated himself a safe distance over the treetops and transformed midair to resume his flight. Considering his assets, he was decidedly safer as a dragon.

_Step 4: know my purpose._

What was his purpose in this world? Vengeance against Oath Breaker? Restoring justice? Simply living his life in peace?

What was his Name?

The sky was beginning to darken. He looked forward to the nights, as he seemed to be made for them. At night there was no need to stay in the shadows of the clouds, or hop between hills. His scales would blend perfectly with the sky, concealing his presence. Then, as his movements were silent, he could soar as close to the ground as he liked and remain unnoticed. His eyesight was sharp enough that even in darkness he could see as well as day.

And since he'd established that his eyesight was more than adequate, there was no way he could've been mistaken when he caught sight of a shimmer on the horizon that turned into something blue. _What the hell…_


	4. Chapter 4

THAT was a dragon. Definitely a dragon.

Harry-Shruikan was starting to think he shouldn't be surprised to be surprised every so often in this life.

The dragon was small and sapphire coloured, so he could safely presume that the stolen egg had hatched. The dragon – for he wouldn't know its gender until he could reach its mind – must've escaped the empire's control, since logically Galbatorix would never let a hatchling out until it was at least as big as Shruikan himself. The dragon was wearing a saddle, meaning that a new Rider had been created.

From the looks of it, the Rider knew enough to hide in the Spine, the only part of the country Galbatorix hadn't conquered. Shruikan wondered where the Rider learned to make a standard saddle though. Perhaps he was under the tutelage of another? Perhaps some of the Riders of the Old Order had survived after the death of their dragons.

If that was the case, then Shruikan should be able to trust them not to sell him out. They might even be willing to train him. If not, then Shruikan needed to keep the young Rider away from the empire. He needed to contact them either way.

He would act now if he was to find his potential allies. It would be impossible to search for them after daybreak without being seen, and when night falls again they would likely be gone. Gliding over the trees, he carefully searched for clearings large enough for a dragon to land. After an hour or so, he arrived at the one he was looking for. Circling it, he could see an old man and a youth. They sat on their bedrolls and appeared to be bickering over something. Beside them, the sapphire hatchling looked on with amusement. For a moment he paused and contemplated the trio below. The boy looked about as happy as Ron did on their year-long "camping trip".

Shruikan gently reached out to the three minds. _Peace, friends._ _Do not be alarmed. I simply wish to speak to you. _

He clamped his jaws shut to stop himself from laughing as they whipped their heads left and right frantically. The young one whipped out his sword, and Shruikan wouldn't put it past him to charge at some invisible target had the old one not held him back. The hatchling bared her teeth and let out what was probably supposed to be a threatening growl. Eventually he felt a thought poke toward to him gingerly: _Where are you?_

_Look up. _

Three shocked faces snapped up to meet the black dragon hovering overhead.

"You!" the old man paled. Shruikan recognized him as one of the young Riders on the front lines of the fateful battle. He'd watched Morzan slay the man's own dragon, who he remembered was also sapphire-coloured. Somehow he had a feeling that he'd actually _known_ the old man, before the war started, though he couldn't quite recall when.

_I am no longer under his control, _Shruikan sent.

"How – ?"

_I will need you to swear in the Ancient Language that you are not allied with Galbatorix, the Empire, or any of their allies. _Better to be safe than sorry.

The old man and the boy looked at each other for a few seconds, which Shruikan guessed was a quick whispered conference. Eventually the mentor stood up and promised that all three of them had not, and would never, turn to the empire. They looked at Shruikan expectantly, although their expressions were still guarded.

In response, Shruikan simply pulled back a part of his mental shield to expose all of his memories from his hatching to present, knowing that the old one would understand the unspoken permission. He had already decided to "trust them", so to say. He might as well go the whole log now rather than come across as vague and suspicious. Still, he concealed his other past and obscured the actual words of his spells. That knowledge was far too dangerous to bring into their present situation.

It proved to be a wise choice, he noted, because the three figures below were shocked enough as it was.

"S-so you can…" the young Rider stuttered.

_Apparently yes. Like so, _Shruikan transformed into Harry and quickly cast a weightless charm over himself. He floated down into the clearing and landed surprisingly gracefully. "Right then," he surveyed the three, forcing a smile to break the tension, "I'm pleased to meet you at last. My name is Harry, and you are?"

"These two are Eragon and Saphira, and I am –"

"Brom?"

Currently Brom was wearing a curious expression. "You … remember me?"

It turned out that he'd first met Brom as a very young hatchling, before he'd been stolen. His original Rider hadn't had time to make many friends yet, he remembered. Brom had kindly offered some suggestions for names. But as he didn't wish to bring up memories of the evening that started the Old Order's downfall, and because Brom was discreetly shaking his head, Harry simply answered, "Yes."

"You said you're pleased to meet us at last," Eragon said, "were you looking for us?"

"Not until today, but I've always wondered what happened to the stolen egg. You understand my reasons for coming here, of course." Harry contemplated the young Rider carefully. He looked around fifteen, lightly tanned and relatively muscular. Perhaps he'd been in hiding for quite some time, or perhaps he simply grew up doing outdoor labor. He was covered in bruises, Harry noted. Possibly some fighting experience? Brom would've wasted no time in training the boy, at least. "But what are your plans? Do you have any destination in mind?"

He tilted his head apprehensively at the silence that met his question. "I've entrusted you with a good chunk of my memories. You saw for yourself that I have more reasons for wanting Galbatorix dead than everyone else's put together. You've also seen that I have no intention to harm you - as long as you do not abuse my trust. Surely you can now afford to impart a tiny bit of your secrets, O mysterious Rider?" Since when had he been sarcastic? He'd never realized.

"Oh no," Eragon said quickly, "It's just that… I'm not very sure either. We _were_ trying to track down the Ra'zacs to avenge my dead uncle, but now we've lost them. Their tracks disappeared."

"Vengence, eh?" Harry chuckled drily, "At least you're ready for yours, unlike me. So, shall I presume that you've accepted me as company, and that we're going to wait here for future development?" They'd better, from their perspective.

"By the looks of it, yes," Brom had lit a fire, "let's talk over dinner, shall we?"

The tension caused by his appearance lingered for some time, but eventually dissipated. Eragon told him how they'd noticed the mark he'd made in the clearing, and then complained about a very sharp smack on his arm he'd received in one of their spars. Brom had gruffly replied that it was a necessary part of his training, and then snapped at Harry to stop smiling because he'd soon be receiving the same treatment. It was good to be with others again, he decided. During his horcrux mission, Ron and Hermoine's presence had helped him immensely. He didn't want to know what could've happened if he had been alone, with no one to talk to.

And Brom... He was supposed to be his own Rider's mentor, if fate hadn't gotten in the way. Brom's dragon, whose name he now remembered was Saphira, had apparently volunteered to be his "big sister". As it was, he'd never gotten the chance to meet her until they were on opposite sides of the battle field.

They warmed some bread over the fire, and Harry gladly accepted a piece. He wondered what would happen if he refrained from eating meat for a week. Would he feel any difference?

"We've been backtracking to look for the Ra'zac tracks," Eragon told him, pointing at a spot on Harry's right, "we think this is where we last saw them."

"I think they have these bird-beasts that fly them to places. That would explain the missing footprints," He could vaguely remember flying alongside them, but he hadn't paid them too much attention. "I don't remember much of them, to be honest. Galbatorix sometimes yelled at them for wasting seithr oil."

Brom nodded. "Oil from a seithr plant, converted by magic into a torture instrument. It's rather rare and expensive. I can see why he would be displeased."

Eragon's eyes brightened. "Say, do cities along the cost keep shipping records? If we could get to those records, they could tell us who brought the oil south and where it went from there. We'll be able to track the Ra'zacs home!"

The young one's reasonably smart, Harry remarked. This improved their prospect significantly.

"Genius!" Exclaimed Brom, "I wish I'd thought of this years ago; it would've saved me many headaches. I suppose we could start at Teirm. My old friend Jeod might be able to help us. But we must be more careful now. If the Ra'zac have reached the king by now, you can be sure he's learned your name."

Harry winced. "I doubt he'll be interested in keeping you alive anymore," he told them sadly, "now that I'm gone. He would need Saphira for himself."

Eragon panicked. "But that means… Roran would be in danger!" He feared for others but not himself, Harry thought. If he had his wand with him, Harry would've suggested placing a fidelus charm on Ronan's household.

"He would be in more danger than he was, yes," Brom agreed, "but there's nothing we can do to help him now. Running to his aid would do more harm than good."

The heavy mood had returned, and they quickly lost their appetite. Harry, who had no bedroll, took off his cloak laid it over the cleanest part of the clearing he could find. He stared at the stars, analyzing their current predicament as the others tried and failed to fall asleep. They had some major weaknesses and pressure points, but their outlook was still relatively fair. Galbatorix knew that Eragon existed, but at least their location was still hidden. In his experiences, the element of surprise can work wonders.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry had somehow managed to wake at the crack of dawn. Strange, he thought, since neither of his pasts had been an early riser. He was about to go back to sleep when he saw in the corner of his eye that Brom was already up. The former Rider had his head bowed in contemplation, and gave no acknowledgement when Harry approached him.

"You didn't need to see them," Harry said quietly, "those memories of the war."

"I suppose not, but how could I resist seeing her again?" Brom smiled bitterly. He sneaked a quick glance at the blue dragon sleeping peacefully nearby, "She reminds me much of my Saphira."

"Have you told Eragon?"

"I've told him about Riders, the Ancient Language and magic, but not about my dragon. I think he still suspects I'm more than I say I am. I've been secretive for far too long I'm afraid."

"You were not like this before," The young Brom was outgoing, bold and impetuous, at least for the brief time he'd seen him. "How war changes us all…" They stood in silence, watching the light slowly creep across the sky until there was no more darkness left. "You were the one who hid Saphira's egg, were you not?"

Brom nodded. "The Varden's thief ran off with it on his own. There was a long chase across the country for it, as you remember. I was able to secure it, and for some time it had been passed among the dwarves, men, and elves in hopes that it would hatch. Recently an incident caused it to be sent to Palancar Valley, where Eragon lived, and that's when the whole fiasco started." Harry did not question aloud why Brom happened to be in Palancar Valley when the egg was found, or why both he and Eragon had the same blue eyes. It was unimportant at this stage, and Brom could tell him when he chooses.

"How many more eggs are in Uru'baen?"

"Just two. The thief was supposed to extract all three, but somehow he was able to bring one out." Harry hoped that the embryos knew their current situation. If there was ever a bad time to hatch, it was now. With effort he erased the mental image of a new hatchling growing up as he did, but no doubt with double the pain.

He felt a slight pressure on his mind, and carefully opened up a small part of his mind to receive the other presence. _Would you like to fly? _It seemed that Saphira had woken too. A gust of wind behind him indicated her take off.

_Certainly. _He'd like to know how good she was. He also thought she sounded rather sulky, and he'd like to know why. "Saphira and I will return when Eragon wakes," he told Brom, and levitated himself out of the clearing.

She was already circling the clearing when he rose above the treetops. _Well you took your time!_

_You have no patience, do you? Wait –_

She'd rolled her eyes at him and shot off. "And now you're being deliberately annoying," he muttered, quickly transforming to follow her. She was fast and even more acrobatic than he expected. Given a few years of practice, she would easily best most of the dragons of the Old Order. He told her this as he did a barrel roll up to meet her.

_I know that, _she stuck her nose into the sky proudly, _I'm magnificent. _

Interesting. Was vanity a common part of childhood?

_I'll race you! _Saphira announced before bolting off again.

_Where to? _No reply. She was clearly going to conceal their destination from him until the last minute and "win" that way.

No matter. He would anticipate her flight path. With amusement he felt her grow increasingly frustrated at each twist and turn, as he would always cut a sharper one and catch up to her. He was mildly surprised at his own success. Perhaps all those years of Quidditch had carried over, or perhaps he'd managed to learn something during the war.

Eventually Saphira gave up. _To the clearing! _They dived toward the ring of trees, neck to neck, but Saphira was closer. She spread her wings victoriously, effectively sealing off the clearing from him. To counter this, he transformed and cannonballed past her, slowing his fall with a charm at the last second.

He landed with a roll split seconds before she did.

Then he looked up at her furious face and realized, too late, that winning was a mistake. _Oh dear…_

* * *

Eragon woke to the sound of rustling leaves and the sight of two dragons pelting straight at him. He saw the larger dragon's outline blur into a cloud of black mist, then solidify into the shape of a man. Saphira was growling at said figure as she landed.

What just happened? He tried to ask Saphira, but all he could hear through their connection was _'Rematch! Rematch!'. _

"Fine! You win!" the unfortunate object of her anger held up his hands placatingly, "you reached the clearing first." Still not entirely satisfied, Saphira marched off to her corner. Eragon smirked. It was good that someone could give her a run for her money.

"She doesn't like losing much," he explained sheepishly out of earshot of the little dragon, "she's very proud."

"She's an impressive flyer for her age…" the black-clad man started to say, then suddenly snapped his fingers in realization. "I see now. She was hoping for a little brother, was she not? And now she's disappointed because I appeared instead."

"Well, more like a baby sister, but you're mostly right…" Eragon had wondered why Saphira was being uncharacteristically quiet last evening. _Really, Saphira? _He thought to her, amused. She huffed at him and resolutely decided to ignore him for the time being.

Eragon stared after her and blinked. Then he looked to the currently human not-quite-human who was calmly ladling porridge for everyone, and blinked again.

He'd known very little about Galbatorix's dragon before - all he knew was that the king had one and that it burned people, really. But whatever he imagined it to be, it was not this. But then again, he'd thought all dragons frightening before Saphira hatched. But still...

Over breakfast and yesterday's supper, Eragon learned much about their new companion. He'd asked Eragon and Brom to call his dragon form Shruikan and his human form Harry, to reduce the likelihood of others making the connection. It turned out that he identified with both names equally poorly, since they were both merely what others had decided to call him. He would be far more attached to his true Name, even though he had no idea what it was at the moment.

In physique, the contrast between his two bodies was striking. As Shruikan he was formidable and towered over everyone, while as Harry he was petit and scrawnier than Eragon. There was, however, always a certain air about him. One that spoke of great battles won and lost. One that should never be trifled with.

Harry – for he was currently human – actually had what might actually pass as a sense of humour, even if it often had a dry, sarcarstic edge to it. Sometimes he even seemed gentle, and he could be more encouraging about Eragon and Saphira's progress than Brom. Eragon found it hard to reconcile the fact that this was the same dragon who, according to Brom, had burned down half the country during the king's rise to power. (And he'd seen for himself that this was probably true from some particularly vivid memories that said dragon had shared with them.) Perhaps now he was finally allowed to be himself, now that the king couldn't order him around? Or perhaps Galbatorix's last ritual had something to do with it? Eragon didn't try to understand what the king was attempting to do. It was full of strange words and something involving spirits that was entirely beyond him. And it somehow resulted in a dragon that could turn human at will.

Eragon decided to think about something else before his brain could be overloaded by the observation that the emperor's dragon was currently serving him porridge.

Their trip to Teirm was speedy and enjoyable, as they went by air. Eragon was more than glad to fly with Saphira again. Brom was carried by the newly transformed Shruikan, but he didn't seem to mind the scales too much. Eragon wondered how that was possible, especially at the speed they were maintaining. The horses were certainly more vocal about their discomfort. Disillusioned and levitated to float behind the dragons, they were making comical neighing noises as Eragon pulled them along by an equally invisible rein.

They had no trouble finding their way in the sky. By late evening, they'd nearly reached the foothills on the other side of the Spine. They quickly set up camp and ate. When they finished, Brom promptly tossed a long straight stick at Harry and yelled, "Defend yourself!"

Harry was true to his words when he told them he was useless with a sword. Even with the night to his advantage, he received countless bruises in his side. Brom had him practice with exaggerated motion just like Eragon used to, and then continued to batter him senseless.

Eragon was doubling over with laughter by the time they finally decided to call it a day. "Is this revenge, Brom?"

"It's a necessary part of his training." Brom said in his gruff voice, but winked slyly at Harry where he'd last fallen.

Harry groaned, not even bothering to get up. Merlin knew how he was supposed to fly tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Harry was woken by a heavy buzzing against his mind. He groggily let the presence through. _Finally awake? I thought you died or something. _That felt like Brom.

_Very funny._ He heaved himself off the ground with great difficulty and stretched in a futile attempt to restore movement to his limbs. _Despite your obvious effort, I will live. Perhaps I won't be dropping you over a mountain today after all. _

Catching Brom's eyes, he grinned widely. He was glad to see that the witty, energetic young man from all those years back hadn't disappeared completely. Neither had the child in himself, it seemed.

"At this speed," Brom estimated, scooping some mush that was breakfast into a bowl, "we should be able to reach Teirm before the gates close for the night. We shouldn't use our real names. We won't be able to deceive Jeod, of course. He already knows my name, and I think I trust him with yours. But to everyone else we ought to be careful. I'll be Neal, Eragon can be Evan, and Harry will be…?"

"Vernon," he supplied, falling back on his all-time favourite alias.

"Fine. Eragon will be my nephew. We must ride into the city, as it would be suspicious if we arrive on foot, meaning that you, Harry, will have to find another way in."

"Whatever you say, old man," Harry shrugged and staggered toward them stiffly. He was interrupted by Saphira, who gave a long, coughing growl. _What are you laughing at? _He snapped irritably.

_S_he snorted. _The way you walk, 'old man' sounds more like you than him. _

He glared at her, and pointedly ignored her when it became clear that she wasn't going to stop. If only he could make healing potions… He made a mental note to ask Brom where he would be likely to find the necessary ingredients.

Soon they were off again. He found it very annoying to maintain speed while trying to keep himself steady, as his wings still ached when he moved. He noticed that Saphira had slowed down a little as well. She wasn't flying loops like she did the previous day, and to his amazement, didn't mock him for being slow either.

_Are you tired? _He asked.

_A little. I'm more hungry than tired, actually. I haven't hunted for two days._

_True, _he agreed, _long trips usually do that to you. _He was feeling fine himself, and he took it as a sign that his experiment was working. It was convenient to know that he could be sustained on regular human food.

_You know what? I think those two noisy deer-like animals would do nicely. _

_They're called horses, and apparently they were quite expensive. I think somebody would not appreciate to see a large sum of his money wasted thus._

Saphira pulled a face at this, prompting him to laugh so hard that his wings quivered.

He turned his mind toward Brom. _Who is Jeod? You never told us._

_He was the scholar who found the passageway into Uru'baen. With his assistance, the Vardens and I were able to arrange for a thief to steal the last three eggs. When Saphira's egg was lost we fought together against Morzan, the Ra'zacs, the king and, well, yourself. I never had an opportunity to see him after that. He most likely believes me dead at the moment. _

Here Brom paused, then continued urgently, _Eragon must not know about my connection to the Vardens yet. If he finds out he will want to join them, and get caught up in troubles he cannot yet handle like I have done. There is always a great price to pay for the foolishness of youth, I find. _

_I understand. You have the right to decide when to reveal your secrets._

_Thank you, Shruikan. And how much do you trust Jeod?_

_I do not trust others with my life easily. I suppose Harry the wizard will have to do. _

By late afternoon, they sighted Teirm. A heavy fog hung close to the ground, providing an inconspicuous landing. Upon transforming, Harry removed the disillusioning charm on the horses and casted one over himself instead. He followed Eragon and Brom as they approached the guards.

One of them blocked the gate with his pike carelessly. "Wha's yer name?"

"I'm called Neal," said Brom in a wheezy voice, schooling his face into an expression of happy idiocy, "and this'ed be m'nephew Evan. He's my sister's boy, not a …"

The guard nodded impatiently. "And yer business here?"

"He's visitin' an old friend," said Eragon in a thick accent.

"I'm along t'make sure he don't get lost, if y' get what I mean. He had a bit too much sun when he was young'r. Touch o' the brain fever, y'know." Brom bobbed his head pleasantly. Harry silently cackled.

"Right. Go on through," said the guard, not noticing the slight shimmer that slid past him.

Once they were safely out of sight of the guards, Harry released his barely contained laughter. "Touch of brain fever!" he removed the disillusioning charm and clapped, "You're brilliant!"

Brom growled and rode on.

They eventually managed to wheedle the location of Jeod's house out of a uncooperative bartender, who kept trying to milk them for more money despite the very generous "tip" they'd already given him. Harry and Eragon were furious by the time they left the tavern.

"The bar was very busy," Brom pointed out, "it's understandable that he doesn't want to waste time on us. Now, you two play nice. We don't want to make any unnecessary enemies."

"Oh we understand, uncle," Harry replied, "We simply think it was a mistake on our part to fall for such a ridiculous, shameless, disgusting – "

"Jeod's house is that way, beside the herbalist's shop." Brom wisely cut him off.

They eventually arrived at the cheery shop, which was flanked by two equally grand houses. Harry wondered if he might find any potion ingredients here. There was a woman sitting by the door, who they assumed to be Angela the shop owner. Eragon approached her and asked politely, "Could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?"

"I could." She continued writing.

"Will you tell us?"

"Yes. " They waited uncomfortably, but Angela said no more. When Eragon was about to blurt something out, she looked up. "Of course I'll tell you! All you have to do is ask. Your first question was whether or not I could tell you, and the second was if I would tell you. You've never actually put the question to me."

"Then let me ask properly," said Brom with a smile. "Which house is Jeod's, and why are you holding a frog?"

"Now we're getting somewhere! Jeod's house is on the right, and as for the frog, he's actually a toad. I'm trying to prove that there are only frogs."

"How can toads not exist if you have one on your hand?" interrupted Eragon.

The woman shook her head vigorously. "You don't understand. If I prove toads don't exist, then this is a frog and never was a toad."

"So this frog-toad is a test to see whether you've accomplished your goal or not?" Harry asked.

"Something like that, yes. If I can prove there are only frogs, then toads won't be able to do anything bad – like make teeth fall out, cause warts, and poison or kill people."

"But you might've simply proven that frogs can do those things as well."

"I see," said Brom delicately, as Angela looked ready to carry on a full debate, "It sounds interesting, and we would like to hear more, but we have to meet Jeod."

"She's interesting," Harry said once they were out of the herbalist's hearing.

"Of course," Eragon teased, "but unfortunately we had to rescue you before she infects you with her craziness." They stopped before a door with a wrought-iron knocker and marble doors. The unhappy young woman who answered their knocks, Jeod's wife, closed the door abruptly after a few curt exchanges of words. Eragon was about to complain, and Brom snapped at him to keep his opinions to himself.

The door suddenly flew open, and a tall man burst out of the house. He was every bit as shocked to see Brom as they'd expected. Brom reached forward, clasping the man's arm, "I'm glad that memory hasn't failed you, but please don't use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knows I'm here. Is there somewhere we could talk?"

Jeod went inside for a minute and came out wearing a rapier and an embroidered jacket. He showed them around the streets of Teirm, pointing out shops along the way. "You, old man, have some explaining to do."

Brom's face crinkled with a smile. "Who are you calling an old man? The last time I saw you there was no gray in your hair. Now it looks like it's in the final stage of decomposition."

"And you look the same as you did nearly twenty years ago. Time seems to have preserved you as a crotchety old man just to inflict wisdom upon each new generation." They reached the imposing citadel. "My office is in there," said Jeod, "Risthart, the Lord of Teirm, has decreed that all business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Although most of us conduct business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. Come to think of it, I might've left a book in there. I'll be back in a moment."

"I'll go with you," offered Brom, "watch the horses, you two."

Eragon and Harry leaned against the citadel wall and sullenly watched them disappear into the castle. They both knew that the book was simply an excuse to discuss something out of their earshot. Harry had nothing to fear, since he knew that Brom would be able to keep his secret. That thought was enough to pacify him for the time being. Eragon, on the other hand, was sorely disappointed that Brom was hiding things from him. "It's not fair," he muttered, "If only I could hear what they're saying…" Suddenly, he jolt upright.

"I can't presume to tell you what not to do," Harry sighed, "but understand that people don't part with secrets easily." He sympathised with the boy, to a certain extent. Still, he had enough experience with secrets and secretive people to know that many of them are best left undisturbed.

"He knows all about me," Eragon reasoned, "It's about time I learn something about him. Thverr stenr un atra eka horna!" Leaning back, Harry guessed at the nature of Brom's conversation by observing the dramatic changes in Eragon's expression.

* * *

Meanwhile, inside the citadel, Jeod hanged a torch in its wall-mounted hoister. "Eragon, named after the first Rider. Very fitting, for the one who will rebuild new order."

Brom nodded. "There is immense weight on his shoulder. I hope for all of our sakes that he will not collapse under it."

"And so you're preparing him for what is to come. Who's your other companion, the one decked in black? Will you return to Tronjheim with them?"

"Harry is a wizard we met on our journeys. He's lost all he had at the hands of the Empire, and was hiding in the Spine when we found him. I think he will prove to be invaluable to our cause. And as for Tronjheim, not yet. The Vardens and their politics will carve him up. Everyone will be trying to influence him. It's the worst place he could be right now. Though I must say, I'm surprised you took up trading. It was very clever and brave of you, to deliver supplies to Surda like that."

"I do what I could," Jeod shrugged, "None of my shipment have been getting through lately. Somehow the Empire – at least I think it's them – has discovered those of us who have been helping to support Tronjheim. I know what you're thinking. A traitor with that much knowledge and power – if such a person exists, then we're all in jeopardy." He reached for the torch again. "We should join Eragon and Harry outside. There is, in fact, a book I would like to show the young Rider, but it's in my home. I'm sure he would find it interesting."

The four headed into the alleys again once they regrouped. If Eragon had managed to hear anything substantial at all, he did not mention it. Jeod eventually lead them to a large tavern, where they were treated to a delicious and filling meal. Brom and Jeod eagerly exchanged stories, while the two younger men listened attentively. Eragon and Harry felt a twinge of guilt toward Saphira, especially as they were now aware that hunting was difficult near the city. Dragons could go on for months without food, of course, but nobody appreciated hunger and loneliness.

"You go ahead, I have to check something." Eragon went off to visit Saphira once they exited the tavern. Harry decided not to follow, figuring that they'd want privacy to discuss what Eragon had overheard. It would also be good to spend more time with their host. Jeod, from what he'd seen and heard of him, was a wise man, with an impressive amount of knowledge about current events as well as the ancient days. There was much to be learned from the scholar turned merchant. He wondered why Jeod would take interest in a passageway into Uru'baen in the first place. Perhaps like Brom, Angela, and a good many others, Jeod was much more than he let on to be.

A plumb butler ushered them into Jeod's polished, elaborately carpeted house. Jeod showed them into his study, a small homely room with a blazing fire. With permission, Harry busied himself with the variety of books around the room, skimming through the thick tomes about elves and dwarves and the land itself.

"Do you enjoy reading?" Jeod asked from the oval writing desk.

"Not as much as you do." He was more for action than books. "What's this one? The Dominance of Fate."

"Ah yes," Jeod smiled with reminiscence, "A man came through here a year ago trying to sell it to a trader down at the wharves. Fortunately, I happened to be there and was able to save the book, along with his neck. This is the one I've been meaning to show your young friend. It details a complete history of Alagaesia, starting long before the elves' arrival and ending a few decades ago."

"It's very rare and the best of its kind," Brom added, "When it was written, the Empire decried it as blasphemy and burned the author. I didn't think any copies still existed!"

Harry nodded. "Knowledge is power, after all. The king would not appreciate those who ladle out power to the commoners."

Jeod regarded him thoughtfully. "An accurate analogy, Harry. It's unfortunately that so few in the country realize it." Here Jeod paused. "Your name is rather unusual."

"Really? They always said my father was an eccentric one."

"To my best knowledge, you're the first of your name. Not that it matters, of course. All names are simply a label except for one."

And that's the one I need to find, Harry thought.

They were shown to their respective rooms when Eragon returned. Harry was glad that he no longer had to sleep on bare soil in his cloak, which he washed at first opportunity. Silently wondering what tomorrow had in store for them, he drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry woke comfortably the next morning. His weariness from the previous day was gone, and his muscles no longer ached. Heartened by this, he leaped out of bed and donned his freshly cleaned cloak and sword. He ventured outside and found an excited-looking Eragon in the halls. "Brom and Jeod went out already. We can visit the markets today!"

They checked out nearly all the shops in Teirm although they had little money to spend. Eragon bought some new travelling clothes. He'd offered to share his budget with Harry, but Harry saw nothing he couldn't do without. By mid-afternoon, they'd made their way back to Angela's shop.

Harry had been meaning to visit the herbalist sometime. He was hoping that she'd have ingredients for brewing healing draughts, among other things. A well-stocked kit of potions would somewhat make up for the limitations of his magic. The polyjuice potion would be unnecessary for him now, since no one would recognize him, but it might be helpful for Eragon and Brom. The disgusting Skele-grow would be helpful in the aftermath of inevitable Urgal encounters, especially as none of them was currently capable of healing with magic.

He also wanted to learn more about Angela as a person. He could sense that she was powerful and strong of mind beneath her mild craziness. She would be invaluable as an ally.

Chains of bells rattled wildly as they opened the door, waking a shaggy cat that slept near the counter. He felt Eragon reach out to reassure it with his mind.

_You don't have to do that. _He froze mid-breath, while Eragon visibly jumped. He eyed the "cat" intensely as he approached it. It stared back with a hint of amusement and curiosity. _You're not just a cat, are you?_ He asked, projecting this conversation to Eragon as well.

_Nope, _it replied. W_erecats are relics of the old. The same goes for the two of you, am I correct?_

_How did you know – _exclaimed Eragon mentally, nearly dropping the rod he was holding.

The werecat merely arched his back and stalked onto the counter. _Before one of you asks, as I know you would, I go by many names. If you wish to know my proper one you will have to seek elsewhere. However, you may call me Solembum. _

"It's very rare that he speaks to customers," Angela had appeared out of the back of the shop, "It's a great compliment coming from him. In fact, he says you show some promise, given a few years of work. I wonder… would you like me to read your fortunes?"

They looked at each other. "Alright," said Eragon, "but my fortune is pretty much unreadable I'm afraid."

"I'll pass," said Harry, "one only wishes to be told of doom and gloom so many times."

Angela hummed thoughtfully. "That's only for show," she pointed at a crystal ball, "but I do have… Wait here. I'll be right back." She returned with a leather pouch. "I haven't used these for so long," she told them as she laid a cloth on the counter and poured a handful of smooth bones onto it. "These are knucklebones of a dragon. Don't ask me where I got them; it's a secret I won't reveal."

She was there during the war, Harry realized, yet her appearance betrayed no sign of her age.

"Unlike tea leafs, crystal balls, or even divination cards," she continued, "these have true power. Though understanding what they say can be difficult. I will cast them for you if you wish, but understand that to know one's fate can be a terrible thing."

Eragon gulped, but nodded firmly. "Cast the bones for me,"

Angela gravely spoke the words of power and threw the bones onto the cloth. She examined them for a minute and pursed her lips. "This is the hardest reading I've ever done in my life! Here," she pointed to one of the bones, "we have the symbol for infinity and long life."

Naturally, since Eragon was a Rider. But then again, Riders can still be killed. Does this mean that Eragon and Saphira will succeed in their quest, or will they simply give up?

"Here the wandering path, the lightning bolt, and sailing ship all lie together – a pattern I've never seen, only heard of. The wandering path is for the many choices in your future. The lightning bolt is for conflict and bloodshed. The sailing ship is for departure and a very long journey. But you are one of the very few who are truly free to choose their own fate. That freedom is a gift, but also a responsibility more binding than chains."

Angela gave Eragon time to process this, then drew a deep breath, "The next bone is easier and far more pleasant. An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary and strong enough to outlast empires. Your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare."

"Well aren't you a lucky one," Harry teased and nudged Eragon in the ribs. That sounded like an elf, and he was not surprised that one of them would wed a Rider.

Eragon smiled nervously. "But the rest of it... well I suppose it makes sense."

"What I wouldn't give to see the rest of your life play out," Angela's eyes flashed, "you can speak to werecats, know of the ancient language, and have a most interesting future. You're truly something special."

"So are you," Harry fixed his eyes on hers, "you're a witch, among many other things."

"And you're a wizard, among many other things." She smiled, "Have you come to resume our discussion about frogs and toads?"

Harry could swear he saw a tiny bead of sweat roll down the side of Eragon's head as this was mentioned. "Not exactly. I'm here mostly to look for ingredients for healing potions. I don't have much money, mind."

"Oh but I can give you a good supply of healing draughts and some ingredients if you want to make your own, free of charge, if you let me read your fortune as well."

"Oh? Am I really worth all that?" Harry raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and took Eragon's place on the stool across from her. "If you say so,"

She cast the bones again and thought for a long time. Eventually, Angela began breathlessly. "So many contradictions," she whispered, "Here we have the sign for infinity and long life again, as if you should be immortal. Yet it is intercepted by this bone here, one that says your life would be abnormally short."

"Well," He tilted his head and refrained from snorting. Doom and gloom indeed... "I wonder how that'll happen. I'm not easily killed."

Angela smiled in confirmation. "It is most curious. This bone here, the lightning bolt, indicates battle; but you will not fall in defeat. It seems that whatever happens will happen by your choice."

Suicide, then? He wondered if the brothers whose remains were currently judging his future were toying with him on purpose. They certainly did have reasons to hate him, as he was probably the one who killed them.

"The rest of the bones are still more confusing. You will leave the land indefinitely, yet you will return home? You will be lonely, yet you will have close friends? You will always be free to choose, yet the path you will take is obvious? It does not quite make sense to me, yet the bones never lie...There is only one thing I can be sure of."

"And that is?"

"You will succeed," She said simply.

"Can you tell what I'm going to succeed at?" He asked hopefully.

Angela shook her head. "No, unfortunately. That is something you'll have to find out yourself."

Keeping her word, Angela gave him a case of healing draught as promised. She also helped him brew his own in her cauldron while happily exchanging recipes and asking about the different properties of his version. "I should learn this," she nodded, "it'll be helpful. Really, I'm lucky to have met you two. Who are you, anyways?"

"I am Eragon." The boy went with the truth.

"And I ..." He was about to say "Harry", but decided that Angela deserved more. "I used to be the Child of Change, but please call me Harry."

Her eyes widened. "The Child of Change… Those in my profession know you well, though I'm afraid not everything we've said about you is favourable. Is it really okay though, to tell me so much?"

"We may need your aid in the future, and I trust that you're wise enough to keep this information to yourself."

By the time he and Eragon bade Angela goodbye, both of them had plenty to think about. As there was still plenty of time before dusk, they set off towards the outer walls. He would go with Eragon to visit Saphira this time. It was only fair that he kept her company as often as he could afford, as he knew she would not enjoy being left outside alone. Besides, he couldn't leave the city any other way without raising either Jeod's or the guards' suspicion.

Suddenly, a loud horn sounded. "What –" he started to say, but stopped abruptly. A pack of Urgals, like an ominous black river, flooded the streets. They looted and destroyed, plunging their blades into frantic victims as they went, and advanced on the pair with disgusting expressions. Anger welled up in him then. He wanted to destroy – no, obliterate these fools. It would be so easy, after all. He would simply transform midair then burn the lot to a crisp, and it would be done –

No, he decided. Not only would innocent bystanders be killed in the process, he would also expose himself and jeopardize his future safety. Firmly suppressing his previous urge, he prepared to fend off the Urgals long enough to escape. He could not escape onto a roof, since unfortunately they were all captured by Urgals. Eragon had been swept away by the fight sometime ago. Quickly glancing around, he realized that he was surrounded.

_Expelliamus. _The dagger poised to plunge into his chest flew off to the side of the road and disappeared. His opponents stalled briefly in surprise, and he quickly used this opportunity to vanish any weapons in sight. The now weaponless Urgals growled dangerously and arched their necks, intending to skewer him with their horns.

He suddenly had an inspiration. _Wingardium leviosa, _he concentrated on any Urgals within three meters away. Once they were lifted a good height into the air, he dropped them hard onto their comrades' heads. He heard with gratification the crunch of horns piercing skulls, and used the temporary distraction to bolt.

He'd hoped that they'd left him alone, but they gave chase. Sprinting through the winding and branching alleyways, he searched futilely for a roof that had yet to be captured. Eventually he realized with a sinking feeling that he had reached a dead end. He backed up against the cold stone wall as they slowly approached, brandishing their knives at him menacingly.

Again, he vanished as many daggers as he could, but there were simply too many of them. His earlier trick would not work either, as he would need to clear the entire alley before he could escape. Grimacing, he drew his sword and struck at the Urgal nearest to him. He found some solace in the fact that most of the Urgals were as inept at swordplay as he was. Still, they had strength in numbers, and he did not.

What did Brom tell him to do again? He screwed his face in concentration as he attempted to remember Brom's harsh instructions from two days ago, but none came. Desperate, he simply slashed at the approaching Urgals as if casting _setcumsempra. _

He nearly stumbled in surprise as six of them fall, each with a long horizontal gash across their front. "Impossible…" he breathed. There was no way he could've wielded a sword with so much force. Unless… _Setcumsempra, _he slashed his sword at four more Urgals, making sure that he did not actually touch them. A similar gash etched itself into their stomachs, and they fell on their backs. The Urgal soldiers behind them were surprised that their fleeing victim suddenly became more dangerous, he noticed, but they thought little of it. The gash looked exactly like a regular sword wound, except he knew it was not.

It was magic.

He drew himself up to full height and fixed his eyes on theirs. "Back off," he warned. Unconvinced, they raised their daggers at him. He grimly raised his sword in response. _Well then…_ _Expulso__. _Thirty or so Urgals erupted into a spectacular shower of red, clearing half of the alleyway. Slowly but steadily, he walked toward his assailants and the mouth of the alleyway. The Urgals on the roof, now beginning to see him as a threat, began to fire, but he quickly relieved them of their bows and their heads. The remaining Urgals in the street blinked at him, unsure of what to do.

He fought down the urge to simply blast away the significantly reduced group of Urgals and be done with it. "Back off," he repeated loudly. Some of them had half a mind to. Others tightened their grip on their daggers hesitantly and darted quick glances at one Urgal near the front, obviously their leader.

"Attack –" He silently slit the leader's throat before anyone could act on that order, causing the command to drown in a fit of fading gurgles. "That," he growled as the followers quickly scattered and scrambled away, "was for knowingly sending your men to their deaths."

Without pausing, he swung his sword again at the falling body, cutting off its hands. "And that was for plundering from the innocent."

Slash. "For cowering behind your foot soldiers for safety, yet lurking close enough to share their loot."

Slash. "For ordering the chase, and the attempt on my life."

Breathing fast, he glanced around to survey the damage. The houses that lined the alley were wet with a fresh coat of blood, but structurally unharmed. After he vanished the bodies and cast _scourgify _over the walls and the street, it was as if no fight had ever taken place. Everything was as it had always been: cold and grey and spotless.

"Was that really necessary?"

Brom stood stiffly at the mouth of the alley. How long had he been watching? Oh right. A good ten minutes it seemed.

Harry straightened, composing himself. "It was necessary to kill the Urgals to free myself. It wasn't necessary to clean up the mess I've made, but I thought it would be good manners. And note that despite the visual effect, the explosion grants them a swifter death than bleeding out slowly from a sword wound."

"But to cut a dead body five times?"

He sighed, casting a second _scourgify _over himself. He hadn't intended for anyone to see that, and Brom couldn't simply be obliviated. How would Brom react to the truthful answer? "His soul has already passed on. I inconvenienced no one by harassing the dead in this manner."

"Do you enjoy killing then?" Brom asked.

A hollow laugh escaped him. Interestingly, Brom actually took half a step back.

"I think one of the elf riders managed to access my mind once. What was her assessment?"

"She said… that..." Brom eventually said hesitantly, and Harry watched the usually steely elder take a deep breath as if forcing himself to continue. "She said that you were so angry, that your only desire is to burn and destroy every last being and plant until nothing remained... But you felt so different when we met you in the Spine. I thought…"

"Is that so? How unclinical of her."

Unclinical, but true however. A large part of his mind still boiled with rage even now. He had succeeded in containing it, but it was far from gone. Such was what Galbatorix had gifted him with.

For such he would repay his "master" in kind.

"I shall be frank with you because you are wise, mentor. The product a lifetime of suffering is not erased so easily. Though I now have opportunities to process it, and enough self control to ensure that it doesn't influence my decisions, I cannot rid myself of it. Perhaps one day in the future it might cease to haunt me, but not yet."

Brom nodded. "I see…"

They walked away from the dark, frigid alley without another word.


	8. Chapter 8

Eragon and Jeod were waiting for them at the mansion. Eragon, who sported a bloody nose and a dozen cuts, was glad that Harry hadn't abandoned the healing draughts during the fight. "I was surrounded by about twelve of them," he informed Harry and Brom as Jeod weighed the (currently weightless) case with fascination, "I might've killed three… I'm not sure. I think their main group had already moved on by the time I got away, so I was able to come back here with no trouble. What happened to you, Harry? Jeod said Brom went to find you."

"I distracted them with magic and ran away," And then hell happened, "and then I met Brom."

"Isn't it strange though?" Jeod wondered, still examining the case of potions, "the Urgals only formed large groups like this twice in history. I cannot fathom what kind of power would be able to gather an Urgal army."

"I think I saw an Urgal who looks like he's in charge, but he was probably just a commander or lieutenant or something like that," Harry said. Someone who jeopardized a successful raid to chase down one unimportant escapee, simply because he could not swallow his pride, did not have what it takes to build an army.

Brom nodded. "Urgal armies, once assembled, have proven to be formidable and highly dangerous. That's something we should beware of. By the way, we really ought to find the records quickly. One of Jeod's couriers returned today, and he said he saw reward posters for Eragon along the road. We cannot tell when the news would reach Teirm. If we're lucky, we can leave before it does."

"You should also try to stay away from the guards," Jeod added, "If they see less of you they'd be less likely to remember you."

Harry exchanged glances with Eragon. _In other words we won't be seeing Saphira until we leave. _He sighed mentally. _That's disappointing. I've been looking forward to talking to her._

_Why don't you talk to her like you're talking to me now? _

_I can't reach her from here easily. Magic weakens with distance, remember?_

_But how come I can still reach her? _Eragon was confused, _I don't even notice a difference!_

_If you try to contact anyone else from this distance you'd have to strain your power like the rest of us, _Harry explained, _but the bond between you and Saphira is strong. _When he had fled Uru'baen, it wasn't until he was leagues away that the bond between him and Galbatorix began to weaken, and further still before he could slam it shut altogether. It had partially healed now, but it was still weak. He sometimes worried it would open up again if he ever travelled too close to his former "master".

Fortunately, Galbatorix hardly ever left the fortress he built for himself since he'd conquered the country. Perhaps it was a stategic move to eliminate any chance of being ambushed, or perhaps he didn't feel the need to travel - he seemed rather content to give orders from his throne and plot ways to increase his power all day. Harry halfheartedly wondered whether he would realize he was no longer king if everyone simply ignored him one day and just went on living their lives. Assuming that all the lords were excellent liars and masters at the mind arts, of course.

And speaking of the lords, "How goes the meeting with the administrator?"

"Bloody awful!" Brom swore, "He even refused bribes! Substantial ones! But don't worry. We'll find a way to get us in."

"I don't think I'll be of any help," Eragon said, a tinge of red colouring his cheeks, "I can't read."

"Well that sets my plan back," Brom tugged at his beard, "but not irreparably. I'll just have to teach you how to read. It won't take long if you put your mind to it."

Harry saw Eragon wince, remembering Brom's harsh teaching style. "It's really not that bad," he told him encouragingly, "The worst he could do is stab you with a quill if you're too slow. I wish I could say the same for swordplay."

"Oh yes, about that." Brom grinned widely.

Heading outside, Harry endured another ridiculously one-sided sparring match. To make matters worse, their "training" had attracted a group of wide-eyed children, who gasped and cheered whenever Brom landed another hit. By the time they finished, Harry was positive that he was glowing beet red.

"Do try to improve so that you won't get hit this many times," Brom pleaded out of earshot of the spectators, "It makes things less painful for both of us."

"You," Harry grimaced as Brom elbowed him on a fresh bruise, "just be glad I didn't drop you in midair. I'm already trying my best." He could hardly recall a time he learned so slowly, save perhaps the occulumency lessons with Snape. The thought of those dreaded sessions eased his frustrations. He did manage to master occulumency in the end, after all. Besides, at least this time it was his body being attacked and not his mind.

Then, when the crowd had scattered and as Eragon struggled away at memorizing the letter "a", Brom taught Harry the magic of the ancient language. "Lift this pebble off your palm and hold it in the air for as long as you can," he instructed, "The words you will use are stenr reisa."

"Stenr reisa," Harry repeated, willing the pebble to rise, but nothing happened. This went on for nearly half an hour. Boredom was slowly eroding his concentration, and the unsolicited segments of memories that kept popping up in his mind were not helping either. In his head, he saw not the pebble but an equally obstinate feather. Brom's instructions had somehow faded into a refrain of "wingardium levi-O-sa, not wingardium levio-SA!"

Was he pronouncing the words wrong? "Stenr reisa," he intoned carefully. Predictably, it remained firmly on his hand.

"I think you have to locate your power first," Eragon advised helpfully, "And then you have to break through the barrier that holds it."

Harry closed his eyes and searched his mind thoroughly, smiling victoriously when he eventually discovered two large reservoirs of silvery light in the innermost part of his mind, each contained behind a thin transparent barrier. Excited, he open one of them slightly. "Stenr reisa."

The pebble shot into the sky like a rocket, and in his shock, he felt the barrier snap back into place. It wasn't until seconds later that the pebble finally reappeared and landed, even forming a tiny crater at impact. He picked up the pebble to try again. This time, he only poked a tiny hole in the barrier to release a trickle of power. He gradually adjusted the size of the opening until the rock no longer wobbled or shook.

"You did it!" Eragon congratulated him.

Brom looked thoughtful, but unsurprised. "Now try to make a fire. The word is –"

"Brisingr," he said, and a dark flame appeared before them. "That one I knew." He had to open up his barrier a little further this time, he noticed.

Brom nodded with approval. "I'm glad this is coming along faster than your dismal swordplay." For the rest of the evening, Harry continued to try increasingly stronger words until he truly needed to strain himself to release enough power. As far as he could tell, there were no differences between the silver streams that flowed out of the two barriers, but the reservoirs themselves felt somewhat different from each other. It fascinated him, even as he grew weary from the practice.

Beside them, Jeod watched with interest. "It's remarkable, old man," he chuckled, "how you spend almost as much time on Harry as you do on the young Rider. Have you grown to enjoy teaching during your isolation?"

Brom shrugged. "He is promising, is he not? Now if only he could do that sword of his some honour…"

A week quickly passed in Teirm. Eragon was now able to read whole pages slowly without asking Brom for help. He was more or less ready for the record room. Meanwhile, Harry's footwork was finally deemed by Brom to be "passable". This he rejoiced over, although he'd made no noticeable improvements anywhere else. Their time in Teirm was pleasant and had a rare sense of tranquility, albeit one that was frequently punctuated by grim news of horrific attacks along the coast. There were tales of people disappearing in the night, and mangled corpses being discovered in the morning. _We really should leave soon, _Harry thought.

"Now that Eragon's ready," Brom eventually declared, "I think it's time to move ahead. We'll have a nice surprise for Sir_ Administrator_, tonight."

They waited until nightfall, then started toward the citadel. They shouldn't appear heavily armed, Jeod advised, or they'd never make it through the door. This was of course not an issue for Harry, who only had one weapon to begin with. Brom carried his broadsword, while Jeod took a rapier that Brom so affectionately called "toadsticker". Eragon took his bow and arrows, opting for the weapon he knew well over the one he hadn't yet mastered.

Luck was on their side when they gained entrance without trouble and, after obliviating the guard, quickly made their way into the record room. Once there, they found the shipping records for the last five years and began to slowly read through them for mentions of Seithr oil. Brom sat facing the door, and Eragon positioned himself so that he could see the courtyard below through the window. Harry and Jeod concentrated fully on perusing the scrolls, so that they could move out sooner.

On his sixth scroll, Harry thought he heard a gasp from Eragon. He quickly glanced toward the window, meeting the gaze of a small boy with shaggy black hair and slanted eyes on the windowsill.

_Hello Solembum, _he thought cheerily to the boy as well as Eragon, whose eyes widened incredulously, _you look good today. Nice touch with the holly. _

_Same to you, Shruikan, though I have to say you don't look nearly half as impressive as you would with your other body._

_Is there a reason why you're here?_

Solembum grinned, revealing pointed teeth. _Only to tell you that you might need to read no further, since those you search for are on their way here. _


	9. Chapter 9

Harry froze. _You don't mean the Ra'zacs?_

_But yes. Already they are flying above Teirm. _

_How do you know we're hunting down the Ra'zacs? _Eragon asked abruptly.

The werecat gave them another mysterious smile before disappearing from sight. _Your mind is a wonderful place, young Rider. But I suggest you think about that another time. There seems to be a more pressing matter at hand for you, is there not?_

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "The Ra'zacs are here," he told Brom and Jeod urgently, "according to Angela's werecat companion."

Jeod jerked up. "What do we do now?"

"They probably suspect that Eragon is here. We'll think about why another time," Brom cursed. "Eragon, you must ensure that Saphira stays hidden. They might not know for certain until they see her."

"When they reach Teirm, they will begin by asking the guards," Harry said, trying to imagine what he would do in the Ra'zacs' place. "But the gates would've closed and the guards would've returned to their barracks."

"Which means that to look for the soldiers," Jeod finished, "they would come to the citadel."

Eragon gasped excitedly. "This is an opportunity! The Ra'zacs don't know we're here, so we can attack them before they leave again!"

Brom nodded. "We can either wait in ambush or sneak up to them, but we must use stealth." Hurriedly putting back the scrolls, he fixed Eragon and Harry with an unyielding glare. "I'll explain why later, but do not use magic to attack and DO NOT engage in a duel. Your necks depend on it. If they notice us at all we run, understand?" Harry, who had intended to use nothing but magic, nodded with more than a bit of annoyance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eragon do the same.

Jeod adjusted his rapier cautiously. "Very well. The barracks are this way,"

They let themselves out of the record room and carefully locked the door before creeping through the damp stone passages. Stealth on its own was not difficult. The disillusionment charm, reinforced by the darkness, ensured that no one could see them without already knowing where to look. Harry had also cast a weightless charm over them to reduce their footsteps, although it also reduced their speed when running. The difficulty of their mission, then, lay within the final step: killing the Ra'zacs before they realize that something was off.

"We've almost reached the soldiers' quarters," Jeod whispered. Harry could somewhat make out his wavering form. Just then, the yellow light of a lantern appeared around the corner. He froze as two ominous shadows slipped into the passage, followed by their owners. He barely braced himself in time to stop himself from shuddering at their grotesque form. Their faces and hands were hidden away entirely, as if they dared not expose an inch of their skin to view. Their back was oddly humped, as if contorted by some immense weight. They carried with them an air of decay, of the corrosion of things once whole until they become untouchable.

One of them stiffened. "What wass tthatt?" He hissed.

"Ssimply a ttrick of lightt," his companion grunted back.

And it was, Harry thought, since the spot they'd been examining was on the wall opposite to the lurking four. Ironically, this provided an unexpected opportunity. The Ra'zacs were now proceeding more slowly, and frequently turned to check on the empty corner. _Muffliato, _he cast around the room so that any noise they make would not alert the rest of the castle. Once finished, he nudged the shimmery figure beside him to take his sword. If he couldn't use magic, Eragon would have more use for the sword-wand than he did. He felt Brom and Eragon silently move into position. This was it. He held his breath in anticipation of the crucial moment. _On my count, _Brom thought to them, _Three, two, one!_

The head of one Ra'zac was cleanly sliced off by Brom's invisible blade. His companion, however, reacted to the soft swish of the swords just in time to block Eragon's attack. With a deep sense of foreboding, Harry saw the Ra'zac grapple with what appeared to be thin air. The Ra'zac was strong and had considerable power, he remembered. Eragon would not be able to win a fight this way. He tensed, preparing to use magic to extract the young Rider as a last resort. Surely the consequences would be a small price to pay compared to Eragon's life.

_Run! _Brom ordered. He grabbed Harry and Eragon by the neck of their shirts, and dragged them away from the scene. The Ra'zac had fled in the opposite direction, having decided against fighting an invisible opponent. They kept on running, and stopped only after they'd exited the citadel and were able to see the night sky once more.

The Ra'zac beat them to the courtyard, and had already taken off on his mount. He couldn't, however, take his dead companion's beast with him. The shrivelled, misshapen looking creature had broken off its leash, and was dashing around aimlessly like a headless chicken. Harry found himself staring at it with wonder. It was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen, and yet it looked almost pitiful.

Cawing in a strangled voice, it charged toward invisible Harry, black wings slightly opened. Brom, or Eragon – Harry couldn't be sure – killed it with a clean stroke before it woke the soldiers. Harry mutely vanished the carcass. Why did the creature feel so strangely familiar?

They walked in silence until they were once again inside Jeod's study, where Harry removed the spells on his friends. "Well, at least we've accomplished something. Everyone still alive and whole?"

Brom and Jeod nodded, but Eragon stared at his feet with guilt. "Your sword," he stammered, "he caught hold of it and yanked it out of my hand. I'm so sorry!"

_What? _"No…" _Accio sword!_ But he realized it was pointless even as he waited. Nothing had whizzed through the air, and the feeling of a cold handle pressing itself into his palm never came. He felt a bit dazed, and fought to keep the shock out of his expression for Eragon's sake.

"You can have one of mine if you like," Jeod offered, "I have plenty."

"Don't bother. You know how bad I am with swords. Heck, I didn't even get to name that sword yet – thought I'd wait until I'm more worthy of it," Harry smiled ruefully, "It's just that… the sword was very special to me. Without it I get the feeling that a part of me is _missing_."

"I understand," Jeod nodded sympathetically. "That's how I felt when my oldest ship sank."

Brom decided to change the topic, since it was beginning to make all four of them uncomfortable. "I'm curious as to how Ra'zacs knew to come here. What tipped them off, exactly? There are no wanted posters in Teirm, and we don't know of any merchants who'd recently returned. Who would've informed them? Who would've remembered us in the first place?"

As they stepped into the foyer of Jeod's mansion, Eragon suddenly remembered something. "What if it was the Urgals? The ones I injured would remember me."

Brom nodded thoughtfully. "There's a good chance, but the idea that the Urgals are sharing information with the Empire is worrying. Perhaps they had been under Galbatorix's leadership all along." Harry barely prevented himself from smacking his forehead. Why hadn't they considered this earlier? The King was one of the few in the country with enough power to keep so many Urgals loyal to him. Now that Brom had suggested it, the possibility seemed unfortunately real.

"So what happens now?" Harry asked.

"We have to leave immediately. The King will likely assume that you're responsible for the Ra'zac's death, Eragon, so we can expect him to send forces to Teirm rather quickly. Jeod, you'll need to be careful. If unfortunately someone recalls seeing you with us, your family will be in danger."

Jeod nodded. "We will seek refuge with the Vardens if that happens."

They quickly and wordlessly packed their belongings. There wasn't much for Harry to take except the case of potions, as it had been his only possession other than the clothes on his back. There was also the sword that Jeod had insisted that he take. He thought it felt somewhat awkward, hanging by his side, even though it was nearly identical in size and weight to his lost sword.

Ready, they led Cadoc and Snowfire out of the stables. They walked to the widest part of the deserted street, where Saphira soon joined them. Harry and Brom each climbed onto a horse and, after spells were cast to make them float, handed the reins to Eragon. Jeod looked on in awe. "So this is how you arrived!"

"Something similar, yes," Brom replied with a laugh, "Take care, old friend."

Saphira took off with a mighty push, taking the two horses with her. Harry hadn't bothered to make them invisible, since the night would give them enough cover. They would soon reach the foothills in any case.

Harry felt a thought from Saphira. _You look miserable. If you dislike this arrangement so much then why don't you fly?_

_Oh I don't mind the horses that much actually, _he gave her a small smile. If anything, the trip was more comfortable than he'd expected. Maybe horses didn't jerk around too much when they were airborne? _Possibly they're thankful that I'd spared them from death by your stomach. __And I'm sorry about the extra load, but I can't risk flying above civilization until I learn exactly how I'm currently impaired. _

Eragon gasped with realization, having heard the whole conversation through his link with Saphira. "When you said a part of you is missing…"

"You know of the sword's origin through my memories, I expect," Harry said glumly. He immediately felt the horror and guilt from Eragon and added hastily, "of course, I don't think its loss will affect me physically. It'll probably be a power or some capability, that's all. Once we're above the Spine I'll have room to do a full inventory check, and then it'll be business as usual."

"It better be," Brom screwed his face into a very convincing look of irritation, "I really hate flying on horseback."

They landed in a sizable clearing, where Harry could freely transform into Shruikan. Brom walked around to examine him. _It's as you said. You look exactly the same as how I remembered you._

_That is heartening, yes. I think I'll fly now._

_We can't help you from down here, _Eragon thought with worry,_ Do you need Saphira to go with you?_

_Peace, friends, I do not require rescuing yet. _Spreading his wings, he shot into the air with ease. Eragon still looked tense, so he did a good number of loops and flips to show off. That seemed to reassure the boy a little. _At least you're still as sneaky as ever, _Eragon thought, caught unaware as Shruikan suddenly dive-bombed him.

Shruikan simply sent him his amusement, and continued with his tests. So far, he hadn't noticed any change in his speed, strength or agility. He didn't know how to test power, but his black fire felt no different than usual. For the most part he was confident that his limits hadn't shifted for the worse. _Either I've lost something so insignificant that I haven't got around to testing it, or I've lost something I didn't realize I had. _There were also some things that he could only tell with time, but he was reasonably confident that he could still function normally.

He saw Saphira rose into the air as he finished a complicated series of twists and dives. _I thought I didn't need rescuing?_

_No, _she replied, _but this looks like fun. _

_If you say so, _he tilted his head absently. _That was what I'd do to remove an unwanted person from my back… Not that you should try it, of course. _It was one of the things he'd accidentally learned by himself. The King wasn't too keen on letting him practice.

He entered into another series of loops, with Saphira following. He wasn't surprised that she'd successfully kept up with most of it. _I know what you lost! _She told him triumphantly as they circled the clearing.

_Hmm? _Shruikan blinked. He didn't notice a fault. _Please enlighten me._

_Your sluggishness! I didn't realize you were acrobatic!_

_I didn't realize I was sluggish_. He had half a mind to remind her who actually won that race, but quickly thought better of it. _There was a time when I couldn't fly for five minutes without doing a loop of some kind. _He looked quite different then. _I was rather like you - but of course, not nearly as spectacular o-magnificent one._

Of course, as he immediately realized, sarcasm was evidently wasted on her.

Light was appearing on the horizon when they finally landed, and Shruikan transformed back. "See," he said with a wide smile, "no harm done."

"It's good that you didn't lose anything important," Eragon said with relief.

He nodded, but pushed the few remaining worries he had to the back of his mind. His greatest fear, that a part of his _soul_ had been lost, was still unaddressed, though it was ungrounded in the first place. It should require something far greater than the loss of a sword to maim a soul like Voldemort did. The memory of the shrivelled, misshapen infantile body in Kings Cross Station nagged at him, as if trying to remind him of something. He couldn't quite place what it was.

"Why couldn't we use magic?" He asked Brom, "you said you'd explain."

"There's no harm in using magic," The old man scratched his chin, trying to give him a good answer. "It's magical duels that are dangerous. You see, magic takes time to do its damage. Even as you cast a lethal spell, your opponent will have time to react and take you down with him. There is no spell of instant death."

Harry did, in fact, know a spell of instant death, but it was so easily noticed and dodged that it was no better than a plain arrow. "But then how would magicians duel? Is there no way to block spells?"

"There is, but you have to formulate your counterattack before your opponent's magic reaches you. The only time you'll get enough time to do this is by breaking into the enemy's mind and discovering their attack in advance. That's why magicians always try to gain access to each other's mind before magic enters the equation. Magical duels always start out as a swordfight until one side becomes so distracted that his mental barriers falter."

Brom paused, letting Eragon and Harry absorb the information. "In short, if you don't have a death wish, you won't duel a magical opponent unless you can best him in swordplay, mental resilience and magical proficiency. The first requirement is your greatest weaknesses, Harry, even though your magic will make you invaluable for any army. You, Eragon, just might make it into the first minute of the duel, but you don't know enough magic to survive for much longer than that. The Ra'zacs are powerful beings, and should not be underestimated. No one knows much about them, as there are only two, but it's been said that Ra'zacs have almost enough power to match a Rider."

It made sense, Harry supposed, though it would mean that he must perfect his swordmanship before he could truly be of substantial use in a fight. He had faith in his mental shield, though it was not something he was willing to gamble. If it ever becomes weakened in a duel, Galbatorix may be able to force his way through.

Speaking of Galbatorix, he could only guess at what his "master" was up to now. Obviously the King would've noticed the disconnection between them by now. Then, once Galbatorix find the dragonhold empty, he would most likely scry for Shruikan in an attempt to locate him. Anticipating this, Harry had taken care to cast a disillusioning spell over himself before transforming whenever they needed to fly outside the Spine.

Assuming that scrying had failed, Galbatorix would realize that someone was tampering with his dragon. He would most likely suspect the elves, since they were his most knowledgeable and magically capable opponents. After that, what the King does would depend on whether he believed Shruikan to be dead or alive.

And even then, Harry thought, madness cannot be accurately predicted with logic.

_Step 5: know your enemy. _The game was young, and so many factors were still undetermined. He'd analyzed as much as he could, but at this point, he had no choice but to do what he does best: wait and see.

**A/N: So poor Harry loses his wand just after getting used to it again...**


	10. Chapter 10

"Masssster…" the Ra'zac whimpered, "He wasss invisssible, masssster…"

Galbatorix waved him down impatiently. He was in no mood to listen to babble when such a development had occurred. A magician who can become invisible… If even he had no knowledge of such Words, then the unknown sorcerer deserved his attention. The coward of a Ra'zac had scrambled away with incredible speed, not even bothering to recover the other Lethrblaka. Despicable.

But he would think about the Lethrblaka later. The Ra'zac who had returned, and who he had given a severe beating to vent his annoyance, had apparently seen a man cloaked in black hiding behind a turn in the passage. Naturally, Galbatorix had given the coward another hard blow for not looking closer _before_ scampering off. He sighed. The details he had managed to extract from his servant were hardly enough to go on. Granted, he could already think of one person who fitted the description well, but he quickly discarded that idea. He had expected Morzan's son to be in Teirm, which was why he sent the Urgals there as a warning. However, he knew the boy's abilities fully and perfectly, and they did not include invisibility.

Whoever he was, the new opponent was not a threat. He had not pressed the fight when he apparently had an advantage, indicating that his strength was unexceptional at best. He relied solely on surprise, and left whenever true power was required. Yet, even the power of invisibility alone would make him a useful servant. Yes, very valuable. The best kinds of followers are like this: strong enough to do significant damage but helpless against their master.

The wizard had killed one of his strongest servants, perhaps to avenge a dead relative, but Galbatorix would forgive this. He would not mourn over spilt milk. The man's loyalty could still be easily won – the King had not wronged him directly, after all – and Galbatorix was quite proficient at persuasion.

He carefully traced his fingers along the blade of the invisible sword, feeling the cold metal against his skin. It was a curious weapon. He could also tell that it had some power, a very rare property to come by these days. Grasping its hilt, he swung it experimentally, and noticed how the magic that concealed it flickered. He wondered…

"Brisingr," He watched with satisfaction as the outlines of a sword glowed in the fire. He considered this his first victory in dominating it, in taming it to make it his own. "And now I can see you at last…"

"Jierda!" The fire was immediately snuffed out by the bolt of energy that struck the sword. He had committed more power into that Word than he normally would, but it was worth the effort. The light slowly faded to reveal a glistening, silver sword. Hungrily, he stared into the polished black stone on its hilt. He found it strangely alluring, in a way that was not quite dark and not quite clear.

Galbatorix hung the sword by his side in place of his old one. It would serve him well, as would its former wielder.

* * *

_Let's race! _Saphira circled happily overhead.

Shruikan sighed, amused and annoyed all at once. _Again, magnificent one? Shall I lose so that you can gloat for the rest of the day, or win so that you can snap at me and demand another rematch? _Still, he rose into the air to glide beside her. She would only improve if she was matched against an opponent, and he needed practice himself.

Currently Saphira had started to make a sharp turn left, toward the tree line, and he veered left as well to cut her off. She immediately flipped around in response and shot off in the opposite direction. Shruikan discovered this maneuver just in time to follow. Over their many races, Saphira had learned to abruptly change directions mid-turn, and had even nearly thrown him off a good many times. Other times she would charge straight at him and force him to dodge out of the way. It was becoming more and more challenging to analyze her intent.

He cut off another of her somersaults, suddenly noticing that she seemed to be doing this a lot near the tree line. Could she be trying to lead him off course? He must've unknowingly moved too close to the destination that she had to make him turn. But this would mean that their destination was somewhere along the tree line, he realized, and somewhere close by. Victorious, he began to wait for an opportunity to approach it.

He belatedly noticed that he was smiling, and hurriedly resumed a neutral expression. Still, he wasn't quick enough. In a backward glance, Saphira noticed that he'd discovered the secret. She suddenly pelted toward a tree, angling herself in preparation to turn right, and he dived on her right side to cut her off.

But this time something was different. Saphira was stretching her neck a little longer than usual, and her back was tenser. There was going to be no turn! This was it! He flicked his tail sharply and dived left, streamlining his body as much as possible. They shot toward the tree at exactly the same pace, each trying to go faster but couldn't. It was going to be a tie, he thought.

Suddenly, Saphira opened her wings wide in an abrupt halt. He hurriedly turned, but she was already hovering triumphantly. _I win, _she announced, and showed him the destination that she'd locked away in her mind as proof. It was a spot in the sky, about a meter from the tree.

_Congratulations, _he told her genuinely, _what you did in the end was very clever. _Use a major landmark nearby to conceal the true destination. He'd remember that one next time.

_Thank you, _she replied, _your turn to set the destination. _

The day quickly passed, and by the time the sun approached the horizon they had both mastered something new. _That was fun! _Saphira thought.

Shruikan nodded in agreement. _Though I better rest before Brom inevitably beats me to a pulp with that thrice-damned piece of steel. _He transformed into Harry and landed gently beside a pretty-looking creek. As he would rather not face Brom's sword yet, he strolled upstream along the pebbled bank. Warm light from the setting sun shimmered in the water, dancing over the rocks and the gentle ripples.

He paused. Further upstream, something was making rhythmic splashes in the stream. It grew louder, stop, and started again. Could it be a deer? A bird? He stared at the bush that concealed the source of the sound, briefly debating whether to go and investigate or not. Eventually his curiosity and vigilance reached a compromise. He reached out with his mind, gently brushing a tiny tendril of thought against the other presence.

He'd expected to touch the fuzzy, hazy emotions of a wild animal, or at most the bickering thoughts of a villager. He didn't expect to find an armoured mind. He quickly recoiled, glad that he had kept his touch light. As Brom had pointed out, it was in his best interest to avoid mental confrontations for the time being. It would disrupt the healing of his mind, and he couldn't afford to let that happen.

Yet, now he'd learned of a considerably powerful person in the Spine, he couldn't simply turn back. Disillusioning himself, he levitated just high enough to see over the bushes and found what he was looking for: a tattered-looking young man washing what looked like a cloak and a tunic.

But Harry swallowed a gasp when he saw the face. _Impossible… _

How could _he _be here?

* * *

How very confusing, Murtagh thought.

He'd been tailing the Ra'zac for weeks – or was it months now? – before he'd followed them to Teirm. He'd hidden himself in the citadel corridor, intending to leave a safe distance between his targets and himself, only for one of the Ra'zac to double back erratically. Strange, as he'd heard nothing happen around the corner. He'd even peeked into that part of the passage after the Ra'zac had left, and saw nothing out of ordinary.

The Lethrblaka were gone by the time he'd exited the castle. At first glance he'd thought that both Ra'zac had flown away, but then he saw the frayed end of a rope hanging off the fence and realized that one of the beasts had escaped. There was also some blood on the ground. Quite a lot of blood, in fact. Whoever left it there must've been grievously injured.

It was later that the last and most ridiculous event of the evening occurred. He'd stretched his neck, and had just happened to look up and see something fly overhead. Anyone else might've easily thought it was a bird, he supposed, but not him. Anyone who'd actually seen a dragon in flight would not mistake it for anything else. Yet, it couldn't be… could it?

A little over a week had passed since then. Having lost the Ra'zac for good, he'd decided to camp in the Spine for some time. He didn't want to stay in one place for long, and he'd thought the Spine was the most likely place a dragon would go. He'd hardly expected to meet it, but he'd harbored hope.

He was looking wretched at the moment. The hem of his cloak was soaked with mud from the road, and there was a large stain of blood on his tunic from the last guard he'd killed. He'd stopped at a creek to wash his clothes, mulling over the very confusing series of recent events, when –

"Hullo, there!"

Murtagh nearly lost his footing in surprise. He warily looked up and saw a man some distance away, hopping from one rock to another to get to him. The stranger looked a little older than himself, and was also dressed plainly in black. The main difference between the stranger's attire and his own, Murtagh noticed, was the lack of weapons. Whereas Murtagh was heavily armed, the man only carried a sword.

Not that it mattered, Murtagh thought. One look at the man's physique showed that he wouldn't do too well in a fight, armed or not. He was probably a recent refugee from one of the cities.

"I didn't expect to meet anyone else in the Spine," now close enough to talk comfortably, the stranger said in a cheery voice, "very few would dare to come here."

If this man was so eager to make small talks, Murtagh thought, then he was probably new to this way of life. But then he continued, "I won't ask for your name. People only come to the Spine to hide from authority. Still, I think if we expect to live here for long and stay sane, we have to try to seek company whenever it's possible."

Who was this stranger? Curious, Murtagh reached out to the man's mind only to find it guarded. He was further taken aback when the man spoke in the Ancient Language.

The stranger was smiling warmly. "If you are capable of the mind arts then you are proficient to some degree in magic, yes? I wonder if you understood."

Murtagh hesitated, debating whether to reply. "You said you are no agent or supporter of the King," he said at last.

"Correct," the man smile grew wider, "and what about you?"

He wanted to know if he could trust me, Murtagh thought. He paused, weighing his options. He could see no harm in admitting his own dislike for Galbatorix. Besides, it might be good to befriend the stranger. Though he hated to admit it, the isolation was starting to wear him down. Tentatively, he repeated the same oath in the Ancient Language.

"Brilliant!" the man beamed, and for some reason Murtagh felt a tiny amount of relief. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he needed the stranger's trust, after all. "So how did you escape, Murtagh Morzansson?"

...

Murtagh tensed, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. How had he been discovered? He'd been very careful to change aliases and cover his tracks where ever he went. Who was this man? His hand instinctively went to his sword. "How do you know my name?" he demanded. He could no longer afford to underestimate the stranger. He was now entirely in survival mode.

"We've been introduced once by our former master, Murtagh. Well, it might be more accurate to say that I've been introduced to you. He felt that you weren't my concern." How? He had no "master" except… But that was impossible! Murtagh searched his memories for a man with jet black hair and somewhat haunting ice-blue eyes. He had been sure to remember everyone of importance, but he didn't recall meeting such a person at Galbatorix's court.

"I don't expect you to recognize me. I looked quite different then." The not-quite-stranger used the same lighthearted voice as before, though Murtagh could tell that a minute amount of tension was seeping through. "You realize we're in the same boat, Murtagh. We can maximize our chances of survival by trusting each other, but only if we can be entirely sure that both of us are free from Galbatorix's influence. I'd like to tell you my story, but since it's connected to a host of other secrets I'm afraid you'll have to talk first."

Again Murtagh deliberated. How he escaped wasn't really a secret anymore, not to anyone important at least. The King had been anticipating it, and had probably already heard the whole account from some soldier. Besides, his old "acquaintance" had given Murtagh enough information to use as leverage, probably on purpose. It couldn't hurt to tell, he supposed.

Concentrating, he started to gather memories to send to the other, but then he decided to simply draw back the shields in his mind entirely. It was far more than what the man had asked for, but it felt lightening. Perhaps it was a subconscious attempt to be accepted, to prove that he was not his father. He just hoped it was not a costly mistake.

He felt the other's thoughts gently sweeping through his own. "You're better than Morzan in his youth," the blue eyes looked thoughtful, "you have both his appearance and his power, but thankfully not his fatal weakness."

"You knew my father before the fall of the Riders!" Murtagh spluttered. Another impossibility. The man looked far too young, and he was most definitely not an elf. Was he one of the Foresworn? But he'd never have been allowed to meet any of them - thankfully, and shouldn't they all be dead by now? "How ?" But he didn't need to ask, because he soon realized that the other's mental shields had been drawn back as well. Returning the same courtesy? Unsure of what to expect, he stepped into the other's mind.

_He saw Galbatorix enter a large room. A boy in black followed him into the room shyly. _But that was himself, Murtagh thought. This must be the introduction! Curious, he dove back into the other's mind.

_"It is an honour, my king," The boy was saying with reverence. He saw Galbatorix smile, pleased that everything was going to plan. He knew, as Galbatorix knew, that the boy would be instrumental to the King. "True, Murtagh. I do not make this introduction for anyone save those I trust most, and I have not done so for a long time." _Any moment now, Murtagh thought. Who could this be, that even Galbatorix deemed so important?

_He saw Galbatorix take the boy's hand and turn to face him. "Murtagh, I would like you to meet Shruikan."_

What! Murtagh quickly riffled through the other's memories. _He was flying beside Morzan. He was glad for the rare chance to leave his tower, but he also feared for the young one they seeked – _This cannot be possible! _ He and Galbatorix were gaining on the giant dragon and the wounded Rider. He'd heard of their greatness, but the knowledge only made him angrier that they had not kept him safe – _As ridiculous as it sounded, there were no other explanation… _He was in a very dark place. He saw nothing, but he could hear voices all around. It's time, he decided, and his world was filled with light – _

Murtagh sprang back, heart pounding. The blue eyes that watched him were most definitely still human, although he could now see how they were familiar. "The world is full of impossibilities, friend."

"You don't say…" Murtagh nodded numbly. Calming himself, he dove back into Shruikan's – oh wait, Harry's – memories, walking among them until he encountered a hazy mist that obscured his view. He knew better than to challenge the mental block, so he cooperatively backed out of Harry's mind.

* * *

Harry slid his shielding back into place. This had gone surprisingly well, and he didn't regret his decision. "I must hide that segment of memory from you because it concerns those I now travel with. I assume you'd like to meet them?" He stretched his mind until he located Brom, Eragon, and Saphira. It was less difficult than he'd expected, suggesting that they were nearby. _I am here, _he sent them an image of his surroundings, _with someone I have called friend. I believe it is in our interest to make him an ally, but I will leave the decision to you._

After some consideration, he sent them Murtagh's face as well. Brom noticeably wavered. _You do realize who he is?_

_He'd opened his entire mind to me, _He replied._ I've done nearly the same for him, showing him all of my memories from before I met Eragon. I trust him as I trust you. _

He left them to consider. Just as it had been crucial to keep Eragon out of the King's reach, it was important that Murtagh never returned to Uru'baen. Judging from his strength and his character, the likelihood of an egg hatching for him was high. Granted, the young man was taking care of himself, but he still felt they'd all be safer together.

_Alright, _Brom sent back, _we're coming. _Harry relayed this to Murtagh. "Who are they?" Murtagh asked curiously.

"The first is a man you've surely heard of, the second is one you ought to meet. And the third –" There was a gust of wind as Saphira dramatically swooped down from the sky with Eragon and Brom on her back. "Well, you know her from Teirm."

He smiled widely. "Let's go somewhere to talk, shall we?"


	11. Chapter 11

They found a clearing for Saphira to land, and Brom and Eragon slid off her back cautiously. Brom's expression was inscrutable, but suspicion was clearly spelt out on Eragon's face. Clearly Brom had told Eragon about Murtagh's identity and parentage.

On his side, Murtagh's lips were drawn tight. Although the young man was returning Eragon's glare with a calm, leveled gaze, Harry could see that it took great effort.

Harry recounted how he'd found Murtagh at the creek, keeping the relaxed smile plastered firmly over his face. In the security of his mind, he was reconstructing the discussions that would've surely occurred after his companions received his message. They would've wondered why Murtagh was in the forest. Did Murtagh know about them? Was this a trap, or an attempt at assassination? True, Murtagh was neither cruel nor greedy like his father, but the atrocities that Morzan had committed would not be forgotten.

Could they accept Murtagh because Harry trusted him? Unfortunately not. What if Harry, or Shruikan, was a part of the plot? Even though they'd seen more than enough proofs of his sincerity from his mind, no one could completely trust someone who'd killed so many of their kins. It didn't really matter whether they were acting by their own will or not. He would have close friends, Angela had said, yet he would be lonely. He understood her now. They would trust him with virtually everything, as he would trust them, but there would always be a miniscule speck of doubt.

But they'd come when they could've refused, or even made him lead Murtagh into an ambush. This reassured him greatly.

His version of the story completed, Harry took a small step back to show that his part in the negotiations was done. It was clearly in Eragon's, and by extension Brom and Saphira's, interest to meet Murtagh, if only to find out how Murtagh would play his hand. Similarly, it was also in Murtagh's interest to meet Eragon. However, there was no say in what would happen now. He would prefer that they join forces, but there was nothing more he could do. Murtagh would not declare allegiance to anyone easily. Eragon would not be keen to accept a stranger's company either, much less to win it.

Would Murtagh, like himself, make an exception for Eragon on the grounds that the boy's mindset was not yet set in stone? Would Eragon, Saphira and Brom feel the need to ensure that Murtagh would not fall to the Empire? Now that they'd actually met, it was unlikely that they would simply walk away as if nothing had happened. It was more likely that one side would attack the other in an attempt to neutralize the threat, but his presence should deter this.

It was Murtagh spoke first. "I would like to travel with you, if you decide that you trust me enough. I am more familiar with the Empire than you are. Plus I'm proficient enough with a sword to be of use to you in battle. As Harry said, we can maximize our chance of survival by staying together."

"Will you allow me or Eragon into your mind?" Brom asked.

"No, I will not." A definite, unwavering no. Subconsciously, Murtagh was afraid that he would be judged. He didn't feel vulnerable before Harry-Shruikan, but he would if he'd opened his mind to Brom or Eragon.

Brom frowned. "We cannot deny that travelling together has many obvious advantages," he told Eragon, "but since you're the Rider I suppose the right to decide remains with you and Saphira."Eragon hesitated. Harry could tell from the way his eyes became slightly unfocused that he was conferring with Saphira.

Seconds passed like hours. Eventually, Eragon replied, "We trust you, Murtagh." Just enough to hold the group together, but that was all they needed at the moment. The rest would come later.

They remained in the forests for the weeks to come, as no one had any particular destination in mind. The sparring matches continued, but Eragon was beginning to outgrow Brom as an opponent. Fortunately Murtagh was on par with Eragon, and they began to practice together instead.

Brom was therefore able to pick through Harry's clumsy movements with much more intensity. Harry was still unable to score a single hit, and each of his countless attempts was rewarded with a fresh bruise on his arms. The good news was that he fell less often, and he could block a good percentage of blows to his head and his ribcage. His injuries were now concentrated on his limbs, which would usually grow too numb for him to feel anyways.

"You're still as thin as a stick," Brom commented one day, "That's odd. Eragon would've packed on some weight by now." Harry glanced at Eragon, who had been attempting to lift a small boulder with magic, and noted how the boy's arms rippled with lean muscles. Eragon looked much stronger than when they first met, but he himself hadn't changed one bit.

The same went for his complexion, now that he considered it. His three companions all sported a healthy tan, while his own skin was still ridiculously pale… Well, when it wasn't covered with bruises, of course. "Can't help it," Harry shrugged. "Waise heile." A tiny trickle of energy coursed through his body, and he watched with satisfaction as his purplish arms turned back to white.

Once again, his achievements with magic were much more heartening. He'd continued to push the boundaries of his power, but he'd quickly discovered energy-conserving substitutes for more than half the Words he knew. _Galbatorix must've been very powerful indeed_, he thought grimly, _to develop such a strong affinity for fancy words._

Harry had also managed to master the wandless _repardo _charm, which he'd nearly been able to do the morning of his thirtieth birthday, among dozens of other spells. Strangely, while the more battle-ready hexes and spells eluded him, the odd jinxes reserved for pranks were surprisingly easy. He couldn't cast _stupefy_ or _impedimenta _for his life. Instead, he could make his victims vomit slugs, dance unstoppably, or turn a pretty shade of canary yellow.

"But how would that help?" Murtagh had asked a determined-looking Harry as flowers sprouted out of an unfortunate rabbit's fur.

Harry grinned. "Just you wait and see. Half the army will die of embarrassment, and the other half will die from laughing too hard." He was hoping that by practicing any form of wandless magic, he would gradually gain more luck with the spells that he actually needed.

Perhaps due to his affinity to souls, there was one other spell that proved to be terribly easy. It was the only spell that he was able to cast perfectly on first try, wand or wandless. It was _Avada kedavra. _

He'd nearly laughed out loud at the irony when he saw the jet of green light appear at his fingertip. Then he'd discreetly vanished the carcass of the spider, carefully shielded the memory of the incident, and hadn't spoken of it since. He would save it for dire situations, he decided. It would be his last element of surprise.

When he was not flying, practicing magic, or being beaten up by Brom, he was telling Murtagh about Alagaesia's past. He'd seen a glimpse of the old Rider's order only as he was dismantling it. Still, he knew enough about the way the Riders functioned to appreciate them now. They had a number of problems, true, but at least there was peace and justice. The Brodding Kingdom, he remembered, was impressive in its own right. It had been growing, and was almost on the verge of enlightenment before it was plunged back into chaos.

In return, Murtagh told him about Alagaesia's present. It was rather funny, he thought as Murtagh described the personalities of all the earls and lords. These people all more or less acted as if their positions were birthrights. The fact that the king had given out titles mostly at random was long forgotten. Had the people of the Brodding Kingdom been so self-centered and short-sighted? He had a feeling they'd been more compassionate then.

But of course, everybody can be a git at times. He'd seen too much to say otherwise.

* * *

In his black throneroom, Galbatorix smiled victoriously at the image in the water.

He could see Morzan's son, Murtagh, as clearly as if he was before him. The boy was seated cross-legged, back hunched, and pointing at what was most likely the ground in front of him. He did not know where Murtagh was, but simply the fact that he could not see the boy's surroundings narrowed down the possibilities significantly. There were very few places that he had not seen, after all.

The boy's mouth was moving, and he leaned in closer to the water to hear better. "... and there are people living all along the coast here. This is where I stayed for a while, before I saw Saphira."

Success. His lips drew back in a feral smile. In the corner of his eye he saw a servant run off with a terrorized face, but he would be gracious today. He had suspected that Murtagh might become disillusioned. Young men were usually too idealistic to grasp the concept of collateral damage, and there were always minor differences between father and son. And Murtagh had left his service, or so he thought.

Before, Galbatorix had known nothing about the new Rider except a name. He could not scry Brom either, for he had no memories of people whose were unremarkable. Now, he could freely listen in on all of their conversations and their plans through Murtagh. It was a matter of time before they would be captured. It seemed that Murtagh had helped him in more ways than the boy realized.

"Should I ask her to fly higher?" A young man's voice, most likely the new Rider.

"It's unlikely that anyone else would recognize her," an old man's voice replied, "Murtagh's circumstances were unique, for want of a better word."

There was a pause, during which Murtagh stood up and took a step backward. He looked as if he was… laughing? "Sorry, Hari, but you _are_ the best cook among us."

Galbatorix frowned at the abrupt change of topic. Who was this Hari? He had never heard of such a name before. He waited for some sort of grumbled reply, but heard only silence. Was Hari unable to speak?

He continued to listen as soup was apparently cooked and served and Murtagh began to eat with an invisible spoon. The young Rider, Eragon, seemed to be at least a proficient swordman, though his magical training was still rudimentary. He was hotheaded and naïve, which was good. His homesickness could also be a weak point. The companion, Brom, was blunt, cautious, and somewhat secretive. He was clearly the leader and the ultimate decision maker of the group. He had also taken it upon himself to become a father figure for Eragon, and to a much lesser extent Murtagh. And the silent cook? Hari was a man, neither very old nor very young. He was also capable of wielding magic.

Murtagh had set down his invisible spoon at this point. A whoosh of wind followed by the rustling of leaves indicated the dragon's takeoff. Galbatorix was about to put away the bowl of water when he heard, "Saphira said Shruikan can fly very well if he wanted to."

They had seen his dragon? The previously calm water in the bowl rippled. Months ago he had been shocked beyond word when he had realized that Shruikan was missing. He could neither scry Shruikan nor reach his mind, meaning that the elves had either hidden him out of range or killed him. He knew now that it was the former.

This, again, meant two things. First, the new Rider had contact with the elves. They may have even met the ones who were powerful enough to dismantle his wards. If this was the case, then he would have to make haste. It would be much more difficult to control the boy if the elves' influence deepened.

Second, he should now allow Eragon to live. Sooner or later, Galbatorix knew, the elven settlements would fall. He was growing stronger by day, and they would not be able to defend themselves when he finally marches out of Uru'baen. It was only a matter of time, and he had plenty of time and patience.

The elves respected the dragons' decision to spare Shruikan, but they had made a mistake. The only one who could steal from Galbatorix was death.


	12. Chapter 12

Murtagh was concerned, terribly concerned for his friends' sanity.

Who in their right mind, while on the run from the Empire, would want to visit a _prison_? How was "We have to go there!" a normal reaction to being told of the ultimate dungeon and torture chamber that was Gi'lead? What was Eragon thinking?! He had been unusually stubborn and unreasonable about their new destination, though he refused to explain no matter how Murtagh pressed him for information. Even Brom, who was supposed to be the wise elder of the group, had simply _conceded_ to this. Murtagh sighed. _Seriously! What's gotten into them?_

Shruikan heard a tiny sigh from one of his passengers, the fifth time since they'd taken off. Murtagh was rightly worried. Aside from Uru'baen, Gi'lead was decidedly the worst place to go if one wanted to avoid capture. Nevertheless, he knew that protesting the plan was useless. When Eragon had abruptly asked him and Murtagh where important prisoners were kept, he had a feeling that the boy was looking for someone they'd better find. If this person was really one of the … special prisoners held in Gi'lead, chances are that he or she could influence the fate of the country.

Eragon was staring at one of Saphira's scales absently, his thoughts wholly on the beautiful yet grievously injured woman from his dreams. Who was she, and who did this to her? He hadn't listened when Murtagh tried to warn him of danger. He only felt that he had to find her, to protect her…

Saphira wondered why Eragon's blood seemed to burn through his veins sometimes, as it was doing now. It was a curious feeling, one she couldn't describe. What could it be? Not poison, surely? It certainly wasn't unpleasant, from what she could see. Perhaps Shruikan would know? Or maybe Brom or Murtagh? She turned her head to glance at her entourage, and saw that they all looked so preoccupied for some reason. Especially the old one – his forehead was so creased that it might pass for a map of the Spine! She would have to ask another time, it seemed.

Brom was contemplating his dilemma that had begun back in Palancar Valley. Gi'lead was where he'd arranged for a contact to take them to the Vardens. He'd hoped that he'd have more time to prepare Eragon, or even to consider whether to show Eragon to them. He didn't expect to be going there so soon.

Should he take the group to the Vardens? Eragon had been pestering him about Trojheim ever since they'd left Teirm. He'd kept the important details to himself every time, but he knew he couldn't put it off indefinitely. Eragon will demand to know, and then probably insist on joining the rebels that his village had glorified. There were benefits to this, of course. The Vardens would offer the protection of a fortress and an army, and they could accomplish more by joining forces. Still, Brom couldn't rid himself of the image of Eragon being torn apart by a pack of hungry jackals.

Shruikan and Murtagh's presence made the decision both easier and more difficult. They would protest any mention of joining the Vardens, since unfortunately they would not receive a warm welcome there. Should he convince Eragon to remain independent of the Varden for their sake? Or would they have to part ways at Gi'lead? Brom hoped it wouldn't come to that. They were more than able to take care of themselves, but he'd feel personally responsible should anything happen to them.

The journey to Gi'lead was surprisingly lengthy. No one had enough experience to navigate the vast, open plain, and they had to travel all the way North to Daret before they could follow the river south. They replenished their supplies whenever they had the opportunity to visit a settlement. Harry had finally managed to acquire enough ingredients to brew a small supply of polyjuice potion, which was rather fortunate since notices promising an earldom for Eragon's capture were abundant in the larger cities. It seemed that Galbatorix was also willing to pay handsomely for Brom and Murtagh, so much that they became popular gossip among villagers. In a tavern in Yazuac, they'd overheard a drunken man loudly proclaim that this "Eragon fellow" ought to be some high-ranking nobleman who'd "filched the King's treasury" and ran.

"You poor idiot," his red-faced neighbour hiccupped, "do you not see here that 'Eragon' is not yet a man? Who by the gods would let a boy run a treasury? I tell you," and here he leaned in mysteriously, "'Eragon' is the King's secret lovechild! That's why he's making such a big fuss over a boy!"

At this point Eragon had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing too loudly.

There were fortunately no notices for Harry. It would be very annoying if he had to drink polyjuice potion, because he suspected he would not be able to transform until its effect wears off. He knew a charm that allowed him to change his features at will, but he wasn't about to try it on himself wandless. For all he knew, he could easily end up with a permanent pig snout, or worse.

Brom had, as expected, seized any opportunity along the way to teach Eragon new skills. These included scrying, something that Eragon was the most keen on learning. The boy learned quickly, now that he was more familiar with magic. He was soon able to see blurry images of his right boot, Brom's sword, and Murtagh's golden horn. He still couldn't scry people, namely Harry, but this had no effect on his enthusiasm.

The heavily fortified city of Gi'lead lay on the flat, open shore of Lake Isenstar. Its walls glowed an ominous orange in the setting sun. From afar, it had an uncanny resemblance to a boulder in a barren field. This was the boulder they needed to confront, and they were only a fortnight away. _Saphira and Shruikan should hunt now, _Brom suggested. They would have no time to stop if they were forced to flee the city, and he suspected that it was likely.

They found a herd of deer a few leagues north. He had always appreciated how the wide-eyed animal galloped so lightly and swiftly across the land. He thought they had a certain grace, though he was most likely simply remembering a patronus. _Sympathizing with the prey now, am I?_ He interrupted his train of thought with a dry laugh. _Then I will make it quick. _

Like a pair of aimed spears, the dragons swooped down and neatly picked off the last two members of the herd. The rest of the deers, sensing danger, quickly bolted off in various directions. Saphira swallowed her kill in two bites and licked her lips with satisfaction. _I don't think I could do that before, _she hummed, _I must be growing. _She tilted her head to find Shruikan staring into the distance, after the deer. _Is something wrong?_

_I can't say…_ He narrowed his eyes. In his mind, he replayed how the deer herd fled, almost… panicking? Normally they would've noticed neither him nor Saphira, so how was it that even the front of the herd felt threatened? It was as if they'd been frequently disturbed, to the point that they must remain tense every waking second. _I think we're sharing this field with someone who most likely won't offer us a warm reception. A sizable group too, considering how much they hunted. We must be careful. _

Eragon, Brom, and Murtagh were waiting for them in the minimal protection of a small hill, having already set up camp. "We've just went over our plans for tomorrow. We think everything is in order." Tomorrow they would enter Gi'lead.

Harry nodded. "We sneak into the city invisible tomorrow morning, follow a soldier into the fortress, and improvise from there?"

"And then we finish what we need to do, follow a soldier out, and bolt." Murtagh finished.

"If nothing happens to us, then that would be the plan, yes." Brom said, blowing smoke rings from his pipe.

Eragon was staring intently at the map they'd drawn in the dirt. The knuckle of his right hand was white from his tight grip on Zar'roc's handle. "Lighten up! We'll be fine," Murtagh nudged him gently, standing up, "I'll take the first watch."

Harry arranged his cloak beneath him and drifted into a light sleep. He usually dreamed whenever he would periodically release some control over his thoughts, but they were rarely coherent enough to be memorable. Unlike tonight's.

He was standing over a large, blood-splattered battlefield. Mangled, unidentifiable bodies of fallen soldiers lay all around. The majestic black towers some distance away stood silent and solemn, just like their name – Uru'baen. And he was walking toward them with slow, soft steps. He'd halted in front of one particular corpse that he recognized. King Galbatorix. Oath breaker. Wyrdfell.

At last.

And he expected to feel joy, or else satisfaction, but instead he felt blank. It was just another battlefield, just another ruin. Wasn't this what he'd wanted? Galbatorix's downfall? Of course it was. The question was absurd.

A better question, then. Was this _all_ he'd wanted?

A ear-splitting shriek jerked him awake. "I guess a wake-up call's unnecessary then," Murtagh muttered, pulling his sword out of the Urgal attacker he'd just stabbed to plunge it into another. Harry sprang up just in time to block two clubs that would've otherwise collided with his head, and readied his sword as the Urgals began to circle him, searching for another opportunity. He was still inexperienced with swords, but his reflex was fast enough that he could rely primarily upon it. This worked well enough, and from the attackers' heavy panting he could tell that the fight was nearing the end.

Murtagh eventually fell the Urgals for him. Straightening up, they breathed in the cold, still air. Saphira growled softly beside them. The plain was empty again, and Eragon and Brom… were gone. "I think I saw the Urgals club them over the head," Murtagh said, "knocked them out, and then carried them away."

Harry nodded. "They're probably being brought into the dungeon." And they stood over the hill for some time, watching the rough, stony fortress of Gi'lead.

"So far, so good?"

-(some time ago)-

"Fine, we'll go to Gi'lead even though it's virtually suicide," Murtagh was saying, "but we need a plan."

_We shouldn't talk out loud, _Harry interrupted.

Brom nodded. _Remember that Galbatorix had seen you. There's a chance that he might be scrying you right now. _They'd realized this hazard the day they met at the creek, but Harry had insisted that they continue to communicate normally for the most part. The more the King felt in control, the less likely he was to take lethal action.

_Getting into the city itself is easy when we can fly invisibly, _Murtagh considered, _but attempting a jailbreak, and I suspect that's our goal, would be much more difficult. We'll have to somehow get into the fortress first, and then we'll have to locate the prisoner. But how do we do this without even knowing where the cells are?_

_Suppose we sneak in and somehow force a guard to tell us? _Eragon asked.

Harry nodded. _That could work, but I don't think all guards have access to all the prisoners. _Galbatorix liked to keep layers and layers of secrets. It contributed largely to the King's perceived omniscience.

_And we don't know how the watches work, _Brom added, _if only we can get all this information somehow.._.

_Well, _Harry mused, _I suppose we can observe the cells and see for ourselves._

_But that's the problem! _ _How do we get into the dungeon?_

_Easily, _Harry replied, _by getting captured. _

And now the plan was underway.


	13. Chapter 13

Awaking inside the tiny cell, Eragon blinked sluggishly to rid his vision of the blinding white light that filled it. After a few minutes, he managed to open his eyes enough to make out the rocky walls, the iron door and the small barred window. His head was strangely and blissfully fuzzy, and he could hardly concentrate enough to realize what had just happened.

The orb of light that had danced in front of his eyes earlier hadn't disappeared. Instead, it had sharpened and clarified until he could make out the image of a tiny dragon. The translucent, silver figure was in size and shape a new hatchling, reminding him of Saphira as she first crawled out of her egg. The only difference was that it could soar, and its solemnity and grace as it circled greatly resembled Shruikan in flight.

Eragon stretched his hand toward the bright figure, hoping it would move closer. He didn't know why, but its presence was comforting. It made him happier, more hopeful, and more ready in the face of danger. In its company, he was able to fight the influence of the drug that Murtagh had repeatedly warned him about and slowly clear his head. He was in the fortress of Gi'lead. He was here to rescue the woman he had dreamt of and scryed. He and Brom were supposed to find out where she was, and then coordinate an escape with their friends outside.

And the silver dragon gladly went to him, stopping to hover beside his ear. _How are you feeling, Eragon? _Said Harry's voice quietly.

"As if I've drunk an entire barrel of beer, but I can think better now," Eragon replied in the same whisper, then added curiously, "The silver dragon you sent me… what is it?"

_The embodiment of hope and true happiness and, in my opinion, the most elegant form of soul magic. The ability to deliver messages is an added bonus. But we must concentrate. It seems that they've had orders to place you and Brom in separate cells. I'd expected as much. Are you able to see what's outside your cell?_

With some struggle, Eragon pushed himself onto his feet. "There's a window on the door," he stood on his toes to see through the bars, "I can see a very wide hallway, almost ten yards across. There are cells on the other side like mine. Oh, there's also a window in the wall of my cell, opposite to the door. From this one I can see… a street, I think. It's very busy, and lined with identical log houses."

_That's excellent. We've studied the fortress and its surroundings last night. I think I know which street you're talking about. The size of the windows is not an issue, so you can easily escape through there. The challenge is freeing our prisoner of interest. We've tried peeking through the cell windows, but we couldn't see anyone inside. They looked rather like sewers, to be honest._

Then it's really up to me, Eragon thought.

_Have they brought you food yet? Don't eat or drink anything they give you, because it's sure to be drugged. But they also mustn't suspect that the shackles they'd fitted on you are failing._

Eragon nodded. "I'll push it out the window. This way it'll also be easier for you to find me."

_Certainly. I will check on Brom now, but you'll know that I'm scrying you again when my messenger reappears. _With that, the silver dragon turned into a stream of silver smoke and disappeared. Eragon was reluctant to see it go, as he would be alone again, but he felt stronger now. He continued to search for his magic. The success of their mission may very well depend upon it, and it was his responsibility to pull his share of the weight.

* * *

_Eragon is safe. He's been drugged, as you most likely are, but he's recovering. Murtagh, Saphira and I are unharmed. _Harry peered into the small puddle, at Brom's sitting figure and the patronus on his shoulder. It had taken him a while to learn the charm again. At first he thought it was the difficulty of a wandless spell, but then he realized that he'd simply been trying the wrong memories. He hadn't been surprised that it was now a dragon instead of a stag, though he still wondered why it looked like himself as a hatchling. Maybe it was the happiest, most hopeful moment of his life? But this should be irrelevant, since it wasn't the moment he'd used. He needed memories from after his two pasts merged, not before. Perhaps it was the age of his soul before it was mutilated? This didn't completely make sense either. Or, more likely, it reflected his soul's current state.

He gave Brom a quick update on what he'd learned about Gi'lead since yesterday. He was just about to remind Brom not to eat the food when he heard a rumbling noise. _Is that footsteps?_ His patronus hid deftly in a corner on its own accord.

"Soldiers are marching in the hall," Brom peered out of the barred window on the door. "By the gods, there's so many! Is this the entire army?"

_It seems that someone had taken it upon himself to terrify the young Rider further. The King would've considered an order like this too petty, although it might've been a smart move. I wonder what sort of captain has been entrusted with a place as strategic as Gi'lead. _It would've been safest, and characteristic of Galbatorix, to choose at least two officers – one for his prowess, and the other for his loyalty. This way, the King could ensure control over the prisoners as well as the jailers.

"I don't know if you've seen this before, but the synchronized march of thousands of hardened soldiers is truly a formidable sight… Hang on, there's a break in the column!"

Harry's breath caught in his throat as a tall man with blood red hair and eyes suddenly came into view. He wore a red cape and a long sword, which was thin and pale like its wielder. Presently he was slightly turned, sharply filed teeth bared in a dangerous smile. _The Shade! _

"Durza," Brom said grimly, "I see you've met. There's also someone being carried, but I can't see her face yet. She's nearer now… Arya?"

_Who is she?_

"The daughter of the elven queen. She must've been the one carrying Saphira's egg between Tronjheim and the elven settlements before she was forced to send it to me! It's no wonder that the elves withdrew their support."

_And she'd somehow managed to contact Eragon in his dreams. _He was right to assume that this rescue would be crucial. The relationship between human and elves must be mended if the world was to prosper again.

"This isn't good. We must rescue her, but then we'll have a Shade to content with… I think a confrontation might be inevitable this time, but be careful still. Shades can be several times as strong as a normal human, and sometimes more powerful in magic than the Riders. Don't fight him for longer than necessary."

_Understood, _Harry confirmed before replacing Brom's image with Eragon's. "Harry! There's a Shade in Gi'lead!"

_Tall, thin, pale and red, right? Brom saw him too. _

"That's him! Why didn't the soldiers kill him on sight? I heard a trail of blood is sure to follow wherever Shades go!"

_His name's Durza, according to Brom, and he's working for the King. I believe he's the one who taught Galbatorix dark magic in the first place, actually. Did he smirk at you?_

"Yes… How did you know?"

_Didn't think he would do that for anyone else. This means that Brom's cell is about four cells to your right, and the elf's – Brom says her name's Arya by the way – is on his right. Hang on, I think you're about to have a visitor. _The silver patronus disappeared again as Durza came into view. Harry watched carefully as the Shade bullied the captain before entering Eragon's cell.

"Greetings. I've waited a long time to meet you." As characteristic of certain soul magic, like the patronus, a Shade's appearance reflects the state of his spirits and mind. In Durza's case the correlation couldn't be clearer. Bright red hair and eyes, for his fiery bloodlust. Pointed teeth, as he was a predator. A malnourished demeanor, for his endless hunger for power as well as the inherent weakness of evil spirits.

"Who – who are you?" Eragon asked, slurring his words.

"No one of consequence. My name does not matter to one in your position. It wouldn't mean a thing to you anyways. It's you that I'm interested in. Who are you?"

"M'name's Eragon, but that's not all I am, is it?"

"No it isn't, my young Rider. It seems I must be more direct. What is your name? No, not that one. Don't you have another one, one that you use only rarely?" Durza was testing Eragon's familiarity with the ancient language. The more experienced a magician was, the sooner he would react to the hint.

Eragon pretended to think, and then nodded foolishly. "Brom told me once. It was… Du Sundavar Freohr." Death of the shadows. The nerves the boy had… Harry contemplated as he watched Durza, who appeared genuinely uneasy. _An inexperienced child whose powers are undeveloped, yet who's now a real threat… How will you react, Durza?_

"I must attend to certain matters, but while I'm gone you would do well to think on who you would rather serve: a Rider who betrayed your own order or a fellow man like me, though one skilled in arcane arts. When the time comes to choose, there will be no middle ground." Durza turned as if to leave, then suddenly stopped. "Captain! The boy hasn't been drinking his water. Why is that?" Eragon's fear was barely concealed as the Shade proceeded to give orders in a low, dangerous murmur. Perhaps it would be best if Durza realized that the name was false. From what Harry gathered of Durza, it was inevitable that the Shade would eventually attempt to kill Eragon against Galbatorix's wishes, if only out of self-preservation. Ideally, Durza wouldn't feel the need to do this before Eragon had become an even match for him.

They'd decided not to act until Eragon and Brom could use magic again. In the meantime, Harry and a disguised Murtagh surveyed the streets of Gi'lead, watching for potential hazards that might impede their escape. Each day, they'd vanished the hard bread and cheese outside the windows of their friends' cells, then discreetly passed some fresh, untainted food inside. Harry didn't dare replace the water in the jugs, but he squirted water into their cupped hands until their throats were no longer parched. Everyone needed to be at full strength if they were to run into Durza on their way out.

Harry thought Gi'lead was a rough, barbaric place. The log cabins, while easy to set up, were not very fireproof. This his allies could take advantage of, as fire was one of their assets, though evacuating the civilians could pose a challenge. However, apart from the large amount of firewood present, Gi'lead was ridiculously war-ready. The whole city was a giant barrack, housing a large portion of the Empire's army. The stone fort was high enough above the surrounding buildings that archers could cover a formidable distance. Of course, there would always be a blind spot along each street, but the soldiers in the log houses would take care of that.

The fortress itself was interesting. On the one hand, the design was highly strategic. There were a number of bottlenecks to trap incoming armies, and the star-shaped bastions ensured that no one could approach without being seen by soldiers on the roof. On the other hand, the boulders that formed the walls were roughly cut, irregular and uneven, with some even jutting out like splinters. This sometimes caused the walls to slope and curve outward, providing coverage for invaders if they managed to get close enough. This also made the fort less structurally sound. Harry could see several spots that might shatter if they were struck by a dozen well-timed, well-aimed catapults.

Although Galbatorix hadn't personally built anything outside Uru'baen, his style was heavily reflected in the city's construction. Gi'lead was cunning, imposing and formidable, but reliant on brute force and weak in foundation. It was virtually invincible, but if one knew how to aim –

His attention was diverted to the slight pressure of Saphira's thought against his mind. _Eragon spoke to me! He says he's ready. _

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter is the breakout! **

**p.s. thank you so much for the lovely reviews :D**


	14. Chapter 14

At sundown, the dusty street that ran next to the fortress of Gi'lead was gloomy, empty and, aside from three shimmery patches, perfectly normal.

_I'm entering Eragon's cell, _Harry severed the bars on the low window and slipped inside without difficulty. The cell was annoyingly stuffy, and no doubt designed this way to psychologically weaken the prisoner. "They should be returning Arya to her cell any moment now," said Eragon as Harry examined the water jug with distaste. Indeed, footsteps were already echoing down the wide stone corridor. Harry and Eragon dashed to the window on the door, just as two burly, steely men came into view. They stared forward with unmoving faces, and dragged the elf between them.

"Hey! You big, loafing brutes!" Further down, Brom was yelling in a ringing voice. The men hardly paused, but squared their shoulders menacingly. Harry could no longer see their faces, but he was sure that their angry glares would make children howl. Brom shamelessly continued. "What'cha good for, anyways? Ugly brick-heads…" This time the soldiers stopped, dropping Arya to the ground. "You say that again –"

"Jierda," Black orbs of energy struck the soldiers in the back, who fell without a groan. A gentle push on the lock's mechanism unlocked the door so that it swung open without resistance. Eragon dashed to the elf's side. "She's still alive!"

"The King couldn't let her die just yet, or else she wouldn't be imprisoned in the first place. I expect they'd been careful not to damage any internal organs. Maybe they'd even healed her each night," Harry was kneeling by the soldiers. They were both dead, and judging from their expressions, killed fairly quickly. He'd never used an Ancient Language spell on a person before. Perhaps a little less power next time would suffice?

"It would make our work easier," Brom said, having freed himself from his cell, "healing's never been my greatest strength."

Harry carefully levitated her into Eragon's cell and through the window, where an invisible Murtagh and Saphira waited. Once she was safely in their custody, he casted the necessary charms to hide her from sight and paused for a split second.

"Everything alright?" Eragon asked with concern.

Harry nodded. He thought he'd heard quiet footsteps, but there was no time to waste either way. "Brom, you're next," Brom raised his arms over his head cooperatively as Harry floated him out of the window. A quick charm later, Brom had disappeared from view as well. They were almost home free! "It's lucky that the Shade hadn't caught us," Eragon smiled nervously.

He was cut off when the door swung open again to reveal a haughty man with a sharp-toothed smile and a voice like ice water. "Hadn't I?"

_Hellfire… _Harry silently shifted. Behind Eragon's back, he pressed the hilt of his own sword into the boy's palm and removed its disillusionment charm. "He will get to you before I can levitate you out," he whispered.

"I'll defend myself and try to injure him," Eragon discreetly whispered back, trying hard not to move his lips.

"I think you'll have to. But more importantly, try not to stand between Durza and the window."

Durza strode toward them leisurely, maroon eyes glinting with contempt. "Did you really think you can escape me? Du Sundavar Freohr? What a pitiful name. I would've expected something more subtle from you, but I suppose it's the best you're capable of."

Eragon said nothing, but quickly whipped out the sword in hope of catching the Shade off guard. Unfortunately, the surprise was hardly enough to prevent Durza from parrying the strike as if he was playing with a child. "So your friend brought you a weapon," Durza laughed as Eragon hastily dodged, so that the tip of the long sword missed his shoulder by a hair's width, "Did your friend unblock the window for you too, or were you actually able to accomplish something for yourself?"

His gaze had lingered on the window a tad too long. _Protego! _"Jierda!" Time seemed to freeze as Harry and Durza raised their hand simultaneously. A jet of light collided with a shimmering golden shield. At first it seemed to hold, but barely a fraction of a second later it had shattered. Harry watched helplessly as the light went on to strike the faint, shimmering form outside the window. An invisible arrow whizzed past Durza's forehead and through the open door. "An interesting friend too, no doubt, but I'm afraid he is sadly departed."

Harry carefully shifted again, silently berating himself for forgetting to test the strength of the shield charm. He wanted to check on Murtagh, but now was not the time. He would need to help Eragon first. Peering through the cell's door, he eyed the bodies of the two soldiers and mapped out a trajectory in his mind. _Accio sword._

One of the soldiers' swords flew out of its sheath and zoomed straight into the cell. Durza had just disarmed Eragon with a flick of his wrist when it lodged itself solidly into the back of his neck. Harry pulled the sword to him by magic as Durza screamed with agony, translucent skin turning gray. Dark mist formed around the tall man's writhing form. Eventually it dissipated, leaving a pile of clothes and the long sword in its place.

Eragon and Harry dashed to the window. "How's Murtagh?"

"He's unconscious," came Brom's voice, "but otherwise uninjured I think." Harry stuck his hand out of the window. _Rennervate. _"He should be fine now," Harry said as Murtagh jolted upright, spluttering with surprise.

Eragon breathed with relief. "I can't believe you actually managed to kill a Shade!"

Harry picked up Durza's sword and quickly examined it. It was magically fortified, as he'd expected, which meant that he couldn't vanish it as he could a normal weapon. "Not quite, unfortunately. You can only kill a Shade by stabbing him in the heart," The heart was the sanctuary of the spirit, after all. The mind was only a gatehouse. But Harry couldn't topple that sanctuary just yet, for then Durza's spirits would have nothing to lose. Neither he nor Eragon could afford to become the subject of their final revenge.

"He will come back," Brom confirmed, "and he'll be more powerful than before."

Clambering footsteps rumbled above them. Soldiers were moving. Calm as ever, Harry levitated Eragon through the window. Suddenly remembering, he summoned Za'roc and passed that to his friends as well. "Great," Brom urged, "now get out of there!"

Harry took a contemplating glance at the two bodies slumped unceremoniously in the hallway. It was an awkward way to be left dead. "Just a moment,"

* * *

Minutes later, soldiers would pile outside the empty cell, peering through the ancient doorway with curiosity and amazement. Beneath the open window lay two of their comrades. Their hair had been smoothed, and arranged neatly to frame their peaceful faces. Their hands, which held their sword and sprig of dried hemlock, were folded over their chests solemnly. On the wall at their heads, written in water, were the fading words, "_Here our brothers fall, but here our future rises." _

They would remove the arrangement at first sight, and pretend that they had not seen it at all. But the words would linger, and stories would spread.

* * *

"The Rider has escaped, m…my liege," the captain stammered, trying unsuccessfully to make his daily report in a way that didn't guarantee wrath.

"Useless fools!" Galbatorix exploded as his trusted commander shrank away from the scrying bowl. "How is it that half of my army can be evaded by a mere boy?"

"Guards ran to his cell immediately after someone screamed, your highness! But the cell was already empty, and the bars on the window were taken off clean! Riders are p…powerful, and he must've had help from the outside. There are even rumours that he'd killed two guards –"

"Rumours? You mean to tell me you were too lazy to check the cell yourself?"

"N…no! I went! I definitely went! Though I might've been a bit slow…"

Galbatorix interrupted him with an annoyed wave. "Where is Durza?"

"He's gone, my lord. We found his clothes and sword in a corner of the cell."

Galbatorix nodded in thought. As far as he could see, the Shade could not benefit from intentionally "losing" the boy. It was more likely that he had been too focused on gloating, and played a little too much. But no matter. Though the boy had hidden away again, and had most likely become wary of his intrusion as well, a boy was only a boy. And Galbatorix had plenty of cards to play. "Fine. Is there anything else?"

The captain, who had just let out a sigh of relief, paled. "Y…yes, my lord… The elf is gone."

"_What?"_

* * *

Meanwhile, the company of (give or take) four humans, three horses, two dragons and an elf landed on a small cliff, a safe distance from Gi'lead. Even if an army were to give chase in the right direction and at top speed, it would not reach the spot until the next day.

"I didn't think you would care so much for the dead," Brom commented, _especially after what happened last time…_

"I don't, but funerals are for the benefit of the living. I was merely trying to leave a good impression," Harry replied, kneeling by Arya's side. She was barely conscious. At one point she'd opened her emerald eyes, fixing him and Eragon with a gaze that could only be described as regal, but after a few seconds her eyelids tiredly fluttered close. Harry knew better than to wake her with magic. It would hardly help her situation. "How would you heal an elf?"

"Usually healers would locate the wound and direct their magic to that spot, but since we don't know enough we can only hope that there are no internal injuries. Of course, it's also possible to flood her entire body with magic and command it to heal, but the power that would take… Even Riders might run the risk of being drained and dying."

Harry nodded. "Luckily we have these," he said, pulling out a bottle of the healing draught he'd made in Angela's shop from his potion chest. He opened the seal and, despite Arya's weak resistance, carefully poured its content down her throat. "In principle it should work as well for elves as it would for humans. The first dose should be effective within the hour."

Beside him, Eragon was watching Arya's face with an entranced expression. Harry silently made note of this. Eragon would no doubt find Arya very beautiful, and after what Angela had said, he wouldn't be surprised if Eragon was really in love with her. It was a happy development, but it would inevitably make matters much more complicated. _Three things are constant among all worlds, _he thought with a sigh, _magic, souls, and love. Or maybe it's all one thing after all?_

Eragon offered to take the first watch. Murtagh and Harry were more than grateful to get rest, and each settled down on a clean piece of earth at first opportunity. Brom, however, stayed by Eragon's side. "I know you've eavesdropped on me in Teirm," he said after a while.

"I had a right to know if what you talked about concerned me or Saphira!" Eragon retorted defensively, though he kept his volume down so as not to wake their sleeping friends.

Brom merely shrugged at this. "I suppose if you weren't so suspicious you wouldn't be worth my time. It's time I provide a decent answer to your questions. You wanted to know what Tronjheim is?"

"It's associated with the Vardens, isn't it? And how are you involved?"

"Quite right. Tronjheim is where the dwarves retreated to after Galbatorix came into power, but its doors have since been opened to human refugees as well. The Vardens have many strongholds, but Tronjheim is by far their greatest sanctuary. Can you see why Tronjheim was a favourable location?"

Eragon thought. "Was it well protected?"

"Yes, but more importantly, it was a potential incubator for good relationships between races. This was the reason I gave when I suggested Tronjheim to the first of the Vardens."

"You chose the Varden headquarter!"

Brom nodded. "Yes. I had to contribute some wisdom, as one of its founders."

Eragon took some time to mull this over. "But if you were so important, why become a story teller? Why settle down in Carvahall?"

"After the Vardens got hold of Saphira's egg, they asked me to train the new Rider when she hatches," Brom decided on the half-lie, "I was supposed to hide until I was summoned. Maybe that's why the egg appeared near Carvahall. The courier might've thought that I could keep it safe."

Eragon didn't interrupt, so he continued. "The Vardens would've wanted me to take you to Tronjheim as soon as I found you, but I was worried. Their politics is dangerous in its own way, Eragon. They might send you on missions you're not ready for just to make a statement. I wanted to prepare you first, in our travels, before introducing you to Dormnad, my designated contact in Gi'lead."

"But we're in Gi'lead now," Eragon realized.

"True," Brom agreed, "and I suppose you'll be demanding that we go to him first thing in the morning."

To his surprise, Eragon hesitated. "I'm not sure," he eventually admitted, "I want to help, but I don't want to spend my entire life fighting as the Vardens do."

"You don't have to decide now. I can always take you to Tronjheim myself, though they might not remember me after I've disappeared for so long. I have a feeling that they would be friendlier if Dormnad was with us… But nevermind. We risk our lives by entering Gi'lead without Harry's help, and I doubt he and Murtagh would be keen on going to the Vardens in the first place."

"I see…" And they both contemplated the unspoken question.

_How long before we'll have to part?_

* * *

**Erm... sorry for the very late update. I've been kind of busy lately**


	15. Chapter 15

The first thing Harry did upon waking was to check on Arya. All of her wounds had completely disappeared, even the bruises. Still, there was something about her that rather worried him. "The potion worked as it was supposed to, but for some reason she's still far from healed. Suppose she's been injured by more than the usual blades and weaponry?" Magic-induced wounds would be more difficult to heal. Poison could've also thwarted the healing draught, if it was still inside her body. "I can wake her temporarily. Though it would weaken her more, it may be the only way we can discover the cause of her conditions."

"I have a better idea," Eragon brushed aside Harry's hand and placed his own palm on Arya's forehead instead.

"Oh no, surely you're not going to –" Harry exclaimed, cutting himself off when he realized it was pointless. Judging by the sudden shift in Eragon's posture, he had already found Arya's mind. _Oh bother, _he shook his head and extended his own consciousness to reinforce Eragon's mental shield. He did not know how Arya would react to being probed. If she was to injure Eragon in self defense… Harry hardly had time to consider the consequences when an attack came in the form of a sharp sting.

He saw Eragon winced visibly. Harry himself was mostly unaffected, as his own mind was not directly under fire, but he could imagine the amount of pain Eragon would've felt from a blow of such intensity. He felt Eragon trying to retreat, but Arya had already clamped down on the tendril of thought and was now ruthlessly attacking it.

_You must convince her that you are a friend before you both injure yourselves, _Harry thought to Eragon. _On three! _And he retracted a part of the reinforcement just as Eragon shouted, "Eka ai fricai un Shur'tugal!" Arya stalled, surprised, and eventually allowed Eragon's thoughts to touch hers. For his own part, Harry retreated to the back of Eragon's mind but remained on guard.

_What is your name? Why have you contacted me in this manner? Am I still a captive of the Empire? _

_No, you are free! My friends and I rescued you from Gi'lead. We gave you a healing potion that should've healed you by now, but still you have not risen. We are unsure what to do._

_Ah… so it was Gi'lead. You must excuse me for resisting your efforts. I had been certain it was preparation for some new torture… _And she explained how she'd been given the poison, and how they must acquire the antidote within two weeks. _Turnivor's nectar exists in three places: the imperial potion cabinets, with my own people, and with the Vardens. But my home is far…_

"Then we ought to go to the Vardens!" Eragon exclaimed out loud. He withdrew from Arya's mind and turned to look pleadingly at Murtagh and Harry. "We must ask them for the antidote, or she'll die!"

Murtagh and Harry exchanged a look. "We knew you'll say something like that eventually," Murtagh muttered.

"There is no choice," Brom stood with a sigh, "Eragon, Saphira and I will make for the Vardens. I trust that the two of you can take care of yourself fine… We'll have to fly if we were to reach them in time. We'll have to leave the horses behind, since it'll take too much effort to levitate them the whole way like Harry did. We'll have to go without Dormnad too, because Saphira won't be able to carry four. Perhaps you can cast that weightless spell on me again, Harry, so that Saphira wouldn't strain too much?"

Harry shook his head. "There's no need."

"What do you mean?" Eragon demanded, "Why?"

Murtagh shrugged. "We're coming with you."

Overjoyed, Eragon and Saphira quickly took off. They'd strapped Arya to Saphira's belly. The horses, having somewhat gotten used to flying, did not neigh nearly as much as before. Shruikan flew with Brom and Murtagh as before, except this time he kept well back. He knew that Arya couldn't afford to wake up. Still, he wouldn't chance her looking in just the right position to see a shimmering outline, shaped suspiciously like a dragon.

"I'm surprised," Brom remarked, "I thought you would literally fight teeth and nails to avoid the Vardens."

"I was prepared to do that," Murtagh admitted, "These rebels want to overthrow the Empire altogether, when only Galbatorix should be deposed. The country would descend into chaos if they had their way. But then, Harry said that they were the best hope that human civilization had. It would be far more difficult to find a suitable replacement for the King than to change the Vardens from within."

Shruikan nodded his assent. _The Vardens is currently the only group that's equipped with enough support from the people, a large enough army to govern, sufficiently experienced leaders and undivided loyalty to the human race. Since Galbatorix will inevitably fall by our hands, I'd like them to share the price of victory. Hopefully they will establish a truly functional distribution of power in the process._

"If they don't gobble you up first, that is," Brom muttered darkly, "A pack of wolves, that's what they are. All wrestling to have more vassals in their power. Once you join them, you'll find that freedom is a luxury."

_Believe me, friend, I have absolutely no intention of becoming a vassal once more._

"You speak as if you have a plan?" Brom asked with interest.

Murtagh snorted. "When does he ever act without a plan?"

Shruikan let out a raspy, coughing laugh at this. _You still don't know me well enough. I'm more than ready to improvise if I'm desperate enough… But in this case, Brom, you are correct, and Murtagh and I have been working on it since we've met. Its success, however, depends partly on you, Eragon and Saphira. This is what you must do…_

They travelled tirelessly. When night fell, Eragon was all for sleeping on Saphira's back, but Shruikan had demanded time to rest. In truth, he'd flown with Galbatorix at breakneck paces far worse than the itinerary Eragon proposed, but he wasn't sure if Saphira could make it to Tronjheim without collapsing. Even if she did, Eragon would be in no state to meet the people inside. It was ironic, he realized, how the two who exhausted themselves most quickly were also the least willing to admit it.

Each morning, however, they would set off swiftly. The sandy landscape of the Hadarac Desert was vast and monotone, but they countered the boredom by diligently practicing what they were to do once they reach their destination. "Are we sure this would work?" Eragon asked on the third day.

_We can never be certain, but this time we can be confident enough to try. Say, what is that mountain called? _

Brom shrugged. "Does it have a name? It's just a mountain to me."

_It's fascinating. _Shruikan thought it had neither the meticulous details of sculpted objects nor the randomness of nature. It was as if someone had commanded the land itself to grow in that particular shape. Curious, he took a short detour by circling the mountaintop several times, ignoring his passengers' startled yelp in favour of studying the empty crater in its center. It was large – more than wide enough to comfortably land in, and it had stepped sides like shelves. _I wonder… _He suspected it was the work of dragons. Now that he thought about it, nature seemed to be their primary tool and weapon.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Shruikan pulled out of the tight spiral and gained altitude. Catching up to Saphira took some energy, as her outline had nearly disappeared in the horizon, but his discovery had been well worth the effort. Although, he still wondered what the crater was used for. The shelves looked just wide enough to rest the front of his snout, suggesting that the objects they once held would be small – for dragons, that is.

The snow-topped peaks of the Beor Mountains came into view within the week, and soon the travellers had reached their feet. Saphira stared up at them with wonder. _I feel like a hatchling again!_

_Oh? And how old did you think you are, Magnificent One? _He laughed heartily as she turned her head around to glare daggers at him. _But I am far from old enough myself to make that jest._

"We've crossed the desert," Brom muttered, "now which is the Valley of Farthen Dur?"

_Tronjheim is a dwarven city, if I recall correctly? Then my guess would be that one, on the right. _Shruikan nodded toward a narrow valley tucked behind an especially wide mountain.

"How come?"

_It looks the most dragon-proof. Trust the dwarves to make their home undetectable from the sky. Even if the entrance is found, I'd expect that the air at the top of the valley would be too thin for anyone to fly out. This effectively forces dragons to exit the way they entered. _

_But why should they trap us inside? _Saphira asked.

_There's a long feud between the dwarves and the dragons. A ridiculous one, too, in my opinion. It's not as if we like to eat them for food, or vice versa… I hope they would consent to the Riders' Pact after the war. It would do much good for the land. _

Dragon-proof or not, they had no choice but to enter the valley and follow the Beartooth River upstream. Soon they found themselves before the grand waterfall that marked the city's doors. Upon landing, Eragon handed the reins of the horses to Harry, Brom and Murtagh. Eragon shifted to sit up tall in Saphira's saddle. "Are we ready?"

"As we'll ever be," Harry replied, removing the disillusionment charm.

"If you say so," Brom said. Throwing a rock at the foot of the waterfall, he yelled, "Ai varden abr du Shur'tugals gata vata!"

They were immediately surrounded by twenty or so glinting blades, though a good number of the men holding them were already regretting their decision. "I commend you," Brom chuckled coolly at a bald, robed man who was obviously leader, "most would not have the guts to challenge a dragon."

The bald man shrunk back a little, but held his head high to look more intimidating. "Follow me. Do anything I don't tell you to do, and you'll be sorry."

Brom shrugged and stepped into the tunnel. The rest of the company followed suit. "There's an injured –" Eragon tried to say, but he was sharply cut off. "Silence! It must wait until you have been tested! Remove your weapons and slide them to me."

Harry unbuckled the sword that Jeod had given him without hesitation. Eragon was clearly unwilling to part with Za'roc, but handed it over nonetheless. "Now I must inspect your memories. Step away from your dragon, Rider, and slowly approach me."Eragon did as he was told. Behind him, Harry caught Saphira's eye. _It's up to you now, Magnificent One. _

After a few tense minutes, the bald man seemed satisfied. "The man swaddled in black next."

"Which one?" Harry asked.

"Not you, him!" The bald man growled, "the one that might actually do some damage! Now move!"

Murtagh complied. Harry could not observe his expression, as he had his back to the rest of their party. After several minutes Murtagh was allowed to go without much fanfare, though he did look unmistakeably flushed. "Hmph. Another orphan sob story," the interrogator grunted boredly, "but I suppose I can't expect any better from the likes of you. Next!"

Harry, seeing that the man had jabbed a rude finger at him, stepped forward. Sneering, the bald man dove into his mind with much more force than necessary. Meeting no resistance, it snaked around his mind, poking and prodding memories as it passed.

In a deeper part of his mind, Harry waited silently. The man hadn't even reached his defenses. He had simply rifled through a history Harry had been constructing since he'd learned of the Vardens. True, it was impossible to build a false life second by second, but it was also impossible for an interrogator to read every single detail. All Harry needed to supply was a number of memorable events, and a lifetime worth of genuine emotions.

The best way to accomplish this, of course, was to carefully analyze segments of his past, and reconstruct similar situations that involve different people. This was the method he'd used, and later taught to Murtagh. With a sufficiently prepared story, they could guide the mental probe in the direction they wanted. The examiner would be satisfied that he'd seen everything there was to see, then dismiss them as completely harmless.

What Harry had not anticipated, however, was the sheer difficulty of convincing himself not to kill the sneering bastard right then and there.

_A little slave, I see, _the bald man was poking at a memory carelessly. _Got beaten around a few times, did ya? Good. It teaches dogs like you your place._

It would be so easy. All he had to do was tug on the disgusting probe, and the bald man would be spluttering gibberish for the rest of his life. It wouldn't even be his fault. Accidents have been known to happen. But he would still be blamed by a number of people, including Eragon. He couldn't lose Eragon's trust because of one insignificant jerk.

Meanwhile, the "examiner" seemed to be savouring every second of it. _Shamelessly ran off when the great Rider was making a ruckus about town? No sense of loyalty at all, I see._

The man who clearly delighted in trampling on the weak deserved neither sympathy nor mercy. In fact, it would do the Varden a great justice if this vermin was removed. Most of them probably had half a mind to do it themselves. Perhaps it would be better to stage a little "disaster". A lightning strike would do nicely, or else a well-directed enemy arrow. No one would even realize that he was responsible - No. His efforts could be used for better, more important things.

_You're very lucky that the boy was stupid enough to take you with him. You won't survive a day without him, you little piece of trash. Not even worth the clothes on your back... _

_Focus_, Harry reminded himself as he reined back the fire that threatened to lash out. The effort it took to maintain the false memories was straining his self control. He tried to remember that this was good. It demonstrated the examiner's obliviousness -

_You hate your master because he killed your little friend__? Ha! Get over it, kid. Slaves must be put down when they become useless._

_...How dare you..._

That comment really hit home. He would ignore any other insult, but he would not tolerate such disrespect toward the memory of the partner so heinously ripped from him! His rage was boiling over. He wasn't sure if he could stop it if he needed to. The bald man, still ignorant of Harry's inner turmoil, finally picked up on some changes at this point. _Ooh, made ya angry, did I? I'd like to see what you can do about it. _

_Oh you have no_ _idea_, _and you're so, so dead. _But wait. Why did it feel as if his interrogator was deliberately trying to pick a fight? What did the bald man have to gain by leaving a bad impression with the Rider and his friends? Typically it would be advantageous for people to gain a Rider's favour, or at least try to avoid an explicit confrontation. As Galbatorix's agent, however, it would make sense to discourage Eragon from allying with Tronjheim by making his company feel unwelcomed.

Harry laboriously gathered some of his mental discipline. If the bald man was loyal to the king, then he would be more useful alive. They may need to feed false information back to Galbatorix through him.

And instead of frying the bald man's brain through the mental probe as it smashed its way around his mind, he carefully tagged onto it a faint compulsion to underestimate.

Eventually, the probe pulled back with a yank, and Harry was roughly shoved to the side. "Your turn, old man –"

"Brom!" he was cut off by a strong voice. It belonged to a man with ebony coloured skin and grave, intelligent eyes. As he walked toward them with long, commanding strides, the bald man moved to stand between him and Eragon's company.

"These people have yet to be tested."

"But surely you have already tested the Rider."

"Yes."

"And he is trustworthy?"

"… Yes."

"Have you tested the young men in the black cloaks?"

"One is the orphaned son of an utterly disgraceful father, and the other is a slave who the Rider has enabled to escape."

"But will they harm us?"

"… No, but I have not tested the old man."

"We have nothing to fear from him," the new man said, sidestepping the other. "I am glad to see you, old friend. It's most fortunate that I happen to be passing by, or I would not be able to greet you personally."

"I am glad too, Ajihad, but I would be happier if Arya could receive some medical attention. As my young charge had been trying to tell your men," Brom threw a glare at the bald man, "she will die unless she is given Tunivor's Nectar."

Ajihad frowned. "Take the elf to a healer immediately," he ordered. The bald man looked as if he would protest, but thought better of it. Smoothing out his purple-and-gold robe, he ordered two underlings to unbuckle Arya from Saphira's belly before skulking away after them. Ajihad stared after him, then ordered the remaining men to return the confiscated weapons and horses. "Greetings, young Rider and company. Please, come with me. I suspect that the Varden owe you a better welcome."


	16. Chapter 16

Ajihad mounted his stallion, a tall and proud animal, and led them through the main tunnel. Brom rode beside him, presumably to catch up on everything that happened since they'd parted. Eragon and Saphira sidled up to them, hoping to catch bits of their conversation. Harry and Murtagh were content to dawdle at the back.

_I think I convinced him, though I nearly lost it, _Murtagh thought to Harry. _I'm guessing he wasn't easy on you either? You look even paler than you were._

Harry explained to Murtagh why he believed that the bald man was a spy. _If only we've been able to disguise emotion as well._ _He'd managed to find a number of pressure points. Nothing compromising, but I expect we'd have our work cut out for us here. _

_So there really is a mole in the Varden. It's a good thing I came in disguise!_

_True. The prospect of Galbatorix discovering that memories can lie isn't rosy. Still, you took a big gamble in allowing me to alter your appearance magically. You could've been disfigured, and you were considered handsome before. _Harry had altered Murtagh's hair, nose and jaw slightly to remove similarities between the son and the father. He'd left Murtagh's eyes untouched, however, since they were amber like Selena's.

Murtagh shrugged. _Too bad the poly-whatsit potion requires a sustainable supply of hair from the same person, and using yours would've been an even bigger risk. Besides, didn't you already figure out how to undo your spells a week ago? I doubt that reversing whatever you've done to my face would be more difficult than removing the scales you grew on the poor rabbit. _

If Murtagh came as himself, Harry thought, it was still unlikely that anything would happen. Very few people were aware of Murtagh's existence after all, and even Galbatorix cannot initiate mental contact at this distance without the cooperation of someone unusually strong on the other side. There was little reason for anyone to suspect that anything was out of place.

And after Harry and Brom had placed anti-scying wards around everyone and everything in their company, it would be much more reasonable for Galbatorix to expect that they'd parted ways before Tronjheim.

_What do you think would happen next? _Murtagh wondered.

_I expect Ajihad is considering the same thing at the moment. He'll want to talk to us, and then assign us a place in their ranks. _Naturally, Brom would resume his role as a commander and advisor. Eragon would continue to undergo training in combat and magic. But what would Ajihad do with an orphan and a slave? They'd expected that Murtagh would receive a role large enough to make a difference, but small enough to be inconspicuous. Meanwhile, since Harry had shown that he could perform rudimentary magic, he would most likely be recruited into the league of magicians: Du Gata Vrangr, or the Du Vrangr Gata as they liked to call themselves.

There were footsteps behind them. The patrol party that had "greeted" them earlier was returning to the city. _Tronjheim is a dwarven city, correct?_ Harry wondered, _How come there is only one dwarf on their watch? One would think they'd be more interested in who's entering their homes._

Murtagh turned his head slightly and discreetly nodded at the bald man, who was currently hiding behind the watch party. _If being on watch means taking orders from him, then I don't blame them._

They'd arrived at a set of heavy doors. "Prepare yourself, Rider Eragon," Ajihad advised, "Tronjheim awaits beyond these gates."

Eragon nodded nervously. Subconsciously, Murtagh and Harry sat up straighter in their saddles as the tunnel was flooded by an amber glow. The doors had opened up to a giant volcanic crater. Enormous icicles, hundreds of meters tall, hang from the distant patch of sky that was the crater opening. A beam of light fell from it, onto a glistening white marble mountain. This was Tronjheim, the mountain within a mountain. It was the last stronghold of the dwarven race, as well as a testament of dwarven craftsmanship.

_I hadn't imagined it to be so beautiful, _Murtagh thought.

_It must've taken them centuries to pull off such a feat, and then a large amount of resources to keep the city ready for habitation. I applaud their dedication to this project. _

A meandering road lay between them and the mountain-city. Humans and dwarves alike were bustling along it. Once they saw Eragon and Saphira, they froze in place. Some even dropped the bunches of mushrooms that they'd harvested. Most were amazed, though also wary. After all, the last Rider they'd seen was the one who drove them into hiding.

Eragon gave an awkward little wave. Though the boy blushed and looked as if he wanted to take it back, it was just what the crowd needed. It reassured them that finally, here was a Rider who was genuinely friendly, and who had no ulterior motives. As applause erupted around him, Eragon glanced back with an expression that clearly said, "_What do I do?"_

_Can't help you here, friend, _Harry thought back, _you're the chosen one. _Eventually Eragon would get used to the crowd, just as the people would get used to his presence.

Meanwhile, Saphira was thoroughly enjoying the attention she was receiving, and held her head as high as she could reach. She especially delighted in blowing little puffs of smoke at the people gathered on the side of the road, who would reward her with whoops and cheers. Harry imagined what would've happen if she'd been old enough to actually breath fire. There would be a good number of flaming beards, for one.

As expected, most of the people who were cheering were humans. Their clothes were plain and rough, especially when contrasted with the bald magician's rich purple robes. All of the men, and many of the women, were armed with multiple weapons. They were a hardened bunch. Looking about, Harry could spot more than one person who'd forgotten how to smile. Hope, it seemed, was much needed and in short supply. Harry also noted how the people were following their progression. He wondered if they would come close enough for himself and Murtagh to blend into the crowd, but they'd stayed well back. Were people just stranger-wary, or was there something else?

Apparently, the news that a Rider was in Farthen Dur travelled faster than the Rider himself. By the time they'd arrived at the marble columns that marked the entrance to the city itself, spectators were leaning out from the upper balconies to catch a glimpse of Eragon and Saphira. With much effort, Ajihad managed to conduct them to his office.

* * *

"Welcome to Tronjheim, Rider Eragon and company."

Ajihad sat down at his desk and surveyed his guests. Brom, his old friend, had told him some things about them already. The young Rider grew up working on his uncle's farm and "poaching" animals in the Spine. After some training, he had become a strong fighter. Ajihad could easily imagine this. The boy appeared well built and muscular. Eragon had set out to avenge his uncle's death, Brom had said. He had been hesitant about coming to the Varden at first, but Arya's condition was the deciding factor. At the moment, Eragon was standing close by his dragon's side. He was caring and protective even though he was a bit idealistic, and Ajihad noted this with great relief.

The blue dragon, Saphira, was a wonder to behold, and Brom had been quite eloquent in her praises as well. Ajihad had seen glimpses of the dragons of the Foresworn, but they were grotesque and terrifying while Saphira was beautiful. She was but a child, Brom had said. Ajihad wondered what she thought of the bloodshed that she'd surely seen already.

However, Brom had said much less about the other two members of their company. They had met unexpectedly on their journeys, he'd said, and later became friends. The one who stood closer to the door, Siloam, had black hair and brown eyes. He was an experienced fighter whose swordsmanship surpasses even Broms. Ajihad also thought he seemed a bit introverted. Not shy like Eragon, but still reserved when meeting people. Perhaps the need to fend for himself at a young age had something to do with it?

The other man, Hari, had travelled with Brom and Eragon longer than Siloam, though he was the paler and less muscular of the two. On their way to Tronjheim, Brom had jokingly wondered if he'd spent much of his life living in a cupboard. He was capable of magic - a much needed asset - and had also been learning to wield a sword. Since Eragon had enabled his escape, albeit indirectly, he had become a fervent supporter of the young Rider out of gratitude. And he'd tagged along, using his magic to aid the party wherever he could. However, Ajihad did not want to dismiss him as only that. He noticed how Hari's eyes flickered around the room, examining and analyzing Ajihad's life even as Ajihad analyzed him. They reminded Ajihad of the icicles outside: cool, sharp and penetrating. He'd very nearly missed it, but Ajihad had a feeling that this man was someone much greater than he let on. And the way he held himself, Ajihad noted. Bowed head, straight back, relaxed but attentive like a good butler... yet not quite the air of a slave. Ajihad saw humility and prudence, but also power and principle.

Ajihad wanted to find out exactly who Hari was.

He started by asking for Eragon's account of everything that happened since the discovery of Saphira's egg. He'd already heard a complete and more reliable version from Brom, but he wanted Eragon to feel more comfortable around him. Throughout the exchange, he'd been sure to watch Hari's expression closely. He couldn't tell if Hari noticed this, as he gave no indications. Then he asked Siloam and Hari the standard set of questions about their pasts, and affirmed that there were no discrepancies in their stories. Finally, he wanted to learn more about their characters. He wanted to know how they think, what they want, what they value.

"We are heading toward troubled times," he told his guests, "There's been increasing Urgal activity near the Beor Mountains."

"There's been increasing Urgal activity everywhere," Brom remarked.

"True, but not in thousands, and never so much that the Kull need to march. It seems almost as if they're gathering here."

"We thought Galbatorix might be commanding them," Eragon said.

"We have evidence that he is. Take a look at this," Ajihad translated the letter that the Varden had taken from an Urgal soldier and watched their reaction. He thought he saw Siloam and Eragon wrinkle their noses in disgust at the word "Ushnark". Hari didn't react. "There's only one purpose for the king to gather such a force - to forge a bastard army of humans and monsters to destroy us."

"Have they found Farthen Dur?" Brom asked.

"No. We killed all the ones that came close enough." Eragon flinched at this. He is repulsed by the idea of causing death, Ajihad noted.

"So what makes him think now is a good time to attack?" Siloam wondered, "He has no more information than he did." Straight to the point. It seemed that the young Rider had surrounded himself with intelligent people.

"That's an important question, though we can only guess. Perhaps he feels that his army is large enough, or perhaps his magic has grown sufficiently. It's always been a matter of time..." Ajihad was about to move on to a different topic, but then he remembered the piercing ice blue glint in the corner of his vision. "Hari, what is your opinion?"

The man in question seemed mildly surprised to be called out so directly. "He's attacking because he expect Eragon to be here," Here he took half a second to deliberate. "After Arya was rescued from Gil'ead, he would've put himself in our place and realize that we must head for Du Weldenvarden or here. If he had to choose, he would've placed his bet on Farthen Dur, reasoning that Arya would not trust a stranger with information of her home. Then, it was only logical to come for Tronjheim. His goal, of course, would be to capture, or at least terrorize, the new Rider."

"But his messenger would need to travel faster than you, and that should not be possible," Ajihad pointed out.

"Not exactly. All he needs is to have one of their magicians make regular reports to him and receive his orders through water scrying. He wouldn't allow them to scry his person, of course - most likely an artifact such as his scrying bowl or something else he could keep beside him. I would not be surprised if this is how he communicates with many of his important officers stationed around the country, really, as well as his _spies_..."

Ajihad acknowledged the wisdom in this chain of logic. He had been right in thinking that the former slave was not to be taken lightly. "The situation would be less worrying if you're right. At least then we can tell ourselves that Galbatorix has no more advantage over us than he did."

"What will we be expected to do here?" Eragon asked, perhaps because he felt that Galbatorix was his responsibility on some level.

"For now, nothing. You've just crossed the desert, after all. You deserve a rest. After you recover, Eragon, you will be tested for your skills and magical abilities. And then we'll talk again to discuss your options."

There was a knock on his door, and Ajihad knew that his interview time was up, for the moment. Orik, the nephew of King Hrothgar, entered. "Greetings, Ajihad, Eragon," he said with a small bow, "King Hrothgar sends his welcome. He has asked me to give the young Rider a tour of our beautiful city."

Naturally. "We can expect no less from King Hrothgar," Ajihad made sure to smile, "Eragon, Siloam, Hari, you will not want to miss this. But Brom, old friend, I'm sure you remember the city well enough. I hope you don't mind entertaining me for a while longer." There was much more to be discussed, after all...


	17. Chapter 17

Harry had debated for some time on how to present himself in Tronjheim. Downplay himself too much and too often, and no one would take him seriously. He might as well float into Farthen Dur invisibly, or simply send his patronus in his place. Certainly, he could watch people and keep himself informed, but he would accomplish little. He too had an agenda in Tronjheim: to ensure that the Varden are ready for their role upon the conclusion of the inevitable battle.

Appear too capable, and he would come across as a threat to the safety and, more likely, profitability of certain important individuals. These people often have no defined goals, other than to take full advantage of their surroundings and keep threats far away. The bald man was a prime example of this. Upon the arrival of strangers, he would first sniff out the weaknesses and exceptional strengths, even for one as "insignificant" as Harry. Beyond that, he cared little. Loyalty, affiliations, values meant nothing to him. Harry would not condemn him for this. It was the most logical and strategic stance for someone in his situation to take. In fact, this mindset was beneficial, from Harry's perspective. It allows the Varden to plant false ideas and information easily, if done properly. It also allows Harry to plan several dozen especially ironic deaths for him that would otherwise not be sensible.

Nevertheless, leaders who are considered to be clever, such as Ajihad, may have enough confidence in themselves and their power base to play with fire. From what Brom told him about Ajihad's dealing with Jormundur and the Varden's "Council of Advisors", this seemed reasonably probable. Things become much more nuanced from there, and Harry could not determine anything more until he meet these people.

He'd eventually decided that he would be exactly what everyone sees. It would be the easiest way to gain insight and deal with all the small nuances in mindsets, since people tend to see what they want to see, or else expect to see, in the first place. He would meet Ajihad with a relatively ambiguous personality. Then, based on whatever initial impression Ajihad had of him, he could modify his image as needed. There may be a slightly greater element of risk on his part, but he would also avoid restricting himself unnecessarily.

Ajihad saw a complex character from the start. For Ajihad, Harry was shrewd, watchful, cautious. Not only that, Ajihad saw Harry masking his "true self" under a veil of blind devotion. A serious player in the game, hiding behind a more emotional and docile persona.

Harry couldn't say whether Ajihad's perception of him was right or wrong. Even his self descriptions can be very accurate from some points of view yet less applicable in others. He could only say that it was unsurprising that Ajihad would get such an impression. Ajihad was accustomed to a society where everyone has something to hide. It would be wise for him to look twice at people and try to "see behind the mask". Harry was, however, a bit surprised by Ajihad's directness. He had no worries about showing that he'd already marked Harry out. It was as if he'd already decided that Harry was manageable, or else that Harry's interest was benevolent where the Varden is concerned. While Harry intended to help Ajihad come to this conclusion eventually, he was not expecting it to happen on the first meeting.

It was also evident, from the way Ajihad's questions became more targeted, that Ajihad was already forming a theory. Harry could look forward to learning what it was, as Ajihad would probably want to confirm its validity within the month. To have given Ajihad so much confidence, it should be very interesting.

But Harry would think later, because as Ajihad said, he would not want to miss this. Presently they were trying to walk through the grand halls of Tronjheim without attracting too much attention. Eragon looked as entranced by the elaborate, precise stone architecture as the onlookers were by Saphira. It truly was splendid, Harry thought, especially the large rose-shaped red sapphire that formed the ceiling of a very large rotunda.

"The Isidar Mithrim," their guide told them proudly, "the jewel of Tronjheim. The dragonhold is directly above it, Eragon. It's where the Riders stayed when they visited, and where you and Saphira will be staying."

They walked on. "Friend, how should we address you?" Harry asked. He recognized the dwarf from the watch party. He was easy to remember, as he was the only dwarf there. From the way Ajihad spoke to him, Harry had a feeling that their guide was someone of substantial rank and social standing in the dwarven city.

"True. I forget," the dwarf laughed, "My name is Orik. And you?"

In turn, Harry introduced himself and "Siloam". Orik was friendly enough. He sympathised with Murtagh over his childhood ("A lot of your people here had a rough time growing up, mostly thanks to Galbatorix and his monstrous pile of scales.") and congratulated Harry on his escape.

"They say there were no slavers when the Riders were around, but they'd started appearing again. But tell me, did you have time to smash his porch before you left?"

"Couldn't risk it," Harry said truthfully, "but that would've been nice. Perhaps one day I'll even go back and do it." This made Orik laugh heartily.

They exited the city briefly, so that Saphira could fly up to the dragonhold. Then they went to the dining hall where they were served platefuls of mushroom and fish. They didn't sit with the dwarves, as a good number of them didn't look happy to see them. Instead, they'd found a comfortable alcove where they could eat in peace. Between mouthfuls of food, Orik gave them a quick rundown of life and politics in Farthen Dur and the surrounding mountains. Eragon asked about the human population here. Murtagh was intrigued by the workings of the underground network of settlements.

"Did you volunteer for patrol duty?" Harry asked.

Orik nodded. "My clan wanted to show our support for the Varden. It was a sign of otho - faith, that is. It's a good thing I did. Someone needed to keep an eye on those twins."

"Twins?"

"Remember the bald man who tested you? There are two of them, and they're both nasty as hell. Not only are they bossy and manipulative, they also enjoy making others miserable." Orik paused and looked around, as if half-expecting one of the twins to be there. "It's rather unfortunate, because they're commander and superintendent of a good many things, including the Du Vrangr Gata. Ajihad's predecessor allowed them to join because powerful magicians are difficult to find, and we need people who can hold their own on the battlefield. They have their uses, but you would do well to stay away from them if possible."

Maybe the reason why the twins are in such high places is their usefulness, Harry thought. Each of the leaders knew of the twin's fickleness, and their willingness to divulge other people's secrets. At the same time, each of them hoped that they would be able to guard their own interests adequately.

"Ajihad knows how to deal with them though," Eragon remarked.

"That's true," Orik smiled, "he's a sharp one. He has to be, really. If Ajihad isn't here to keep people like the twins, Trianna, and the "council" in check, the Gods would know what would happen to the Varden."

"Has he any family?" Asked Eragon, "Though I must say, he doesn't strike me as that type of men."

"He has a daughter, Nasuada. The two of them were alone when they appeared out of the desert. She's a very capable girl. I think even Ajihad doesn't realize how much she's doing for him."

"Oh? I wonder how she does that?" Harry listened with interest.

"There have been times where she'd maneuvered his enemies without even revealing her part in it. Sometimes, during important battles, she would even sneak out and lead a small group of soldiers to help." Orik chuckled. "Ajihad never approved when he found out."

Interesting person, Nasuada.

Once they were finished, Saphira swooped down and took Eragon up to the dragonhold, thankfully before she could be surrounded by people again. Harry and Murtagh asked whether there were any way up the mountain that didn't involve dragons or stairs. Orik showed them a pulley system for transporting freight, but suggested that "it might be better if they look for rooms on the lower floors, though most of them may be filled." Around fifteen minutes and one fifth of the way up, they conceded that Orik had a point. Eventually, Harry gave up on the pulleys and simply floated them up with magic.

"I suppose this would give Riders some peace from all the people asking for blessing," Murtagh commented.

For Eragon's sake, Harry hoped he was right.

* * *

The Rider had arrived in Farthen Dur, as expected.

Galbatorix leaned on the arm of his tall throne, thinking. As expected, Murtagh had left the company. He was unable to scry the boy after they had broken the elf out of Gi'lead, indicating that they had already realized their mistake. It would be a while before he could locate the boy again.

_All in due time, _Galbatorix thought. He would still check on Murtagh periodically, in case he becomes visible again.

Interestingly, the twins had described "Hari" as a weak servant, though perfectly capable of speech. According to the twins, since Hari has shown some rudimentary magical ability, he would be placed directly under their command. They intend to use the servant as leverage over the Rider.

Their report also included an additional companion: a man named Siloam. The twins had supplied that he was a hunter and swordsman, who had crossed path with the Rider by chance and had decided to stay with him. From the looks of it, the young Rider now had a small group of supporters. A comrade in battle, a faithful underling to take care of the irritating chores and, he thought with a sneer, an _elder _for _guidance._

Something felt wrong here.

Backtrack along the train of thoughts. There was no discrepancies in the report. There was nothing extraordinary about the addition of a man to the Rider's entourage. He remembered now that the old man, Brom, had caused some trouble for him a very long time ago, but he did not recognize the two younger men from the twins' descriptions. And there was nothing unexpected about them except ... _Oh. Interesting. _

What exactly does Hari bring to the table? The young Rider had too much regard - respect, even - for a measly servant who cooks his food and cleans his clothes. If this was Siloam instead, then it would be understandable. A hunter and fighter would have been of some use to the Rider's survival. Perhaps he had even saved Eragon's life several times. But Hari? Certainly Eragon benefited from bringing him along, but there was no reason the young Rider should see him as an equal, let alone an advisor.

So what was really happening? Was either the twins or he, Galbatorix, being tricked in some way? Possibly the elves had something to do with it. But how? He would tell the twins to keep close watch on the Eragon and all of his travel companions, especially Hari.

Another person came to mind, rather out of the blue. _Mister invisible. _Perhaps due to the nature of the mystery, he had subconsciously connected the invisible assassin in Teirm with the Rider's company. There were no evidence to suggest this relationship, but it was also not implausible. The young Rider, did have a grudge against the Ra'zacs, as they had unwisely provoked him by killing his uncle. The twins also may be unable to tell if an invisible person followed them into Farthen Dur. Perhaps the invisible man was less simple than Galbatorix had previously thought.

His eyes rested on the sword by his side. The way his own reflection flowed and distorted in the smooth surface of the black stone on its hilt was bewitching. _I rename you Andlat, for "death", _he decided. _Now, who was your wielder?_

* * *

A majestic looking archway marked the entrance of the dragonhold. Tentatively stepping through it, Harry and Murtagh found themselves standing on top of the deep red gem that formed the roof of the mountain-city. The open roof of the dragonhold aligned perfectly with the aperture at the top of Farthen Dur, so that they were still able to see a glimpse of the true sky. The walls around them were lined with caverns of various sizes, all roughly chiseled to resemble natural formations. Eragon and Saphira had already settled in a medium-sized cave, which by the looks of it was reasonably roomy.

"Fascinating," Harry remarked as he floated around the room to peek into the caves. most of them had a small bed or a cushion inside.

Murtagh shrugged and climbed into a small cave near the floor. "I'm going to bed. Good night,"

Harry contemplated what to do next. Perhaps he should fly a loop around Farthen Dur, and take a more comprehensive tour by himself? Now would be a good time, and he had planned to do so eventually in any case. He liked Farthen Dur. With most of the valley shrouded in twilight even during day time, he was virtually invisible even without the spell. He was about to levitate out of the dragonhold when he spotted a pair of glowing red eyes.

_Hello Solembum. When did you arrive?_

_Weeks before you did, _the werecat replied. _We sensed that something would happen at Tronjheim. With your friends here, it certainly would._

_Angela is here, then. _He had been meaning to visit her again in Teirm, but he never found the time.

Solembum nodded. _Follow me, _he told Harry, and padded silently toward the archway with a swish of his tail. Harry followed him closely down the never-ending stairs and through the abandoned corridors. Eventually they arrived at a lavishly decorated room. Angela sat on a plush leather chair in the center of the room, surrounded by boiling cauldrons and various artifacts. She looked up, smiling brightly. "Hello Harry! Come and sit, though I'm afraid I don't have any more chairs."

Harry carefully situated himself between two of the safest-looking pots. "Solembum says you foresee action here."

"Something like that, yes," Angela nodded cheerfully, "I didn't know what it was at the time, but it makes more sense now. You didn't tell me that Eragon is a Rider!"

"It was his secret to tell, not mine." Harry examined the curious liquid bubbling beside him. It smelled something like mandrakes.

"Of course. I was not expecting you to. But I also wasn't expecting you to tell me your former name, Child of Change." Here she paused. "Why did you do that, anyways?" Her voice had a tentative tone now, as if she was testing the waters.

Harry smiled back. "I'd like to hear a complete, reliable version of the prophesy. I know of its existence, but not the words. It's caused me a great load of trouble."

"I understand. Wait for me," With that, Angela disappeared into the back room just as she'd done in the shop. Moments later, she returned with a large leather-bound book. It was torn and fading with age. "This goes back to even before the Rider's War," she explained, carefully turning the yellowed pages. "Galbatorix was still in hiding then, though there were rumours that he'd stolen a dragon hatchling. Those, unfortunately, turned out to be true.

"During that time, by various means, fortune tellers around the country caught wind of a very interesting and, frankly, alarming wyrd. I've written it down here," she pointed out a passage in the earlier part of her book. It read,

_An innocent child, born to (of? from?) change_

_Should fall to (shrouded in? engulfed by?) the darkness (shadows?)_

_The ground would tremble (? turn?) where he steps_

_And empire(s) would crumble _

"As you can see, it's only a loose interpretation and must not be read literally. Still, it was enough to frighten a good many people. Those of my profession were divided on what this could mean. Some insisted that this child will destroy us, and should be sought out and killed. Others, myself included, believed that it should be interpreted as a cause-and-effect. In other words, _should _the child fall to the darkness, _then_ we would be doomed. But though we could talk, there was nothing we could do, so we gradually forgot about the wyrd and moved on to other things.

"But then the war started, and the Brodding Empire did indeed fall. Some believed then that the 'Child of Change' was Galbatorix himself. Others were ridiculously optimistic, and argued that the 'empire' in the wyrd could be Galbatorix's empire. Though they waited, however, no such powerful character appeared. I must say, I would not have believed you if not for Solembum."

"I see now. It's no wonder that he'd ..." Harry said softly, thinking back to the day Galbatorix had practically ran into the dragonhold, eyes gleaming with victory.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me what you think of it?" Angela prompted, tugging him back to the present.

Harry shook his head. "No, I think not." _That _information would be far too sensitive.

"Knew you'd say that," Angela shrugged. "I think Solembum knows much more about this than I do."

_He does_, Harry thought.

"But he won't tell me anything, and I've begged him for a long time. Ah well," Angela lamented fretfully, then her mood brightened as suddenly as lightning. "Come see the healing potion you taught me. Tell me if they're safe to try on people..."

* * *

Solembum watched with amusement as his human companion took Shruikan - or Harry as he was called these days - around the room, showing him the contents of all her vials and cauldrons. All the fortune tellers had assumed that the Child of Change was a human, or maybe an elf or a dwarf. They'd never once considered that he might be a dragon.

It had been so obvious, but Solembum did not tell her. He still hadn't told her who - let alone what - Harry was, and he would never tell her even if she asks. It was not his place.

Solembum knew that Shruikan had some sort of scheme in mind. This was the primary reason why he'd befriended Angela, and why he was taking any risk at all. So typical of a dragon, Solembum thought. Elves work with metals, humans engineer with wood, and dwarves build with stones. But dragons, they shaped the mountain, the forest, and the people. Their craft was so natural and grand that before others had registered it as work, they'd already felt its effect.

And whatever Shruikan was planning, Solembum had a feeling that it would shape the future of Alagaesia.

* * *

**A/N: Eragon looks to Harry for guidance sometime. Galbatorix finds this suspicious because he thinks in a very selfish way. People like Eragon and Brom, or even Murtagh, wouldn't note this as a discrepancy. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Angela knows of an entity called "the Child of Change" from the prophesy, but she doesn't know who it is. When Harry declared that the prophesy referred to him, he didn't really tell her much about Shruikan, etc. He only allowed her to associate the mysterious "Child of Change" with an equally unfamiliar human.**

* * *

Shruikan soared silently over the fields below, weaving deftly between icicles and memorizing the terrains. It would be futile to attempt to sleep tonight, and he'd rather not waste time.

He'd seen numerous snippets of the prophesy from Galbatorix's memories. It was hard not to, as the king had been so excited that he couldn't contain himself. More or less, some fortune teller had been blabbing about it in a drunken stupor. He had been overheard by Morzan who, thinking that such a powerful wyrd could only belong to Galbatorix himself, faithfully ran back to his master to report his discovery.

_Ha! _Shruikan thought bitterly, _it turned out that Galbatorix didn't quite see himself as an "innocent child". _

He remembered Galbatorix's maniacal laughter well. It had frightened him, chilled him from nose to tail. He had already grown to the size of a barn under the effect of Galbatorix's magic, but he was still a very young hatchling after all. He didn't like the way his "master" was looking at him. It had felt so ominous, in a way he didn't think was possible. Had he not already done his worst?

And he'd came closer, even as Shruikan shrank back defensively until there was nowhere else to go. _And he smiled, "I heard something very interesting today, Shruikan."_

Shruikan could feel the hurricane of thoughts on the other side of their mental connection. They swirled and clashed, like the most dangerous of storms. He'd touched them tentatively, wanting to find out yet not wanting to know.

His "master" laughed harder. _"I thought you would be interested too, Shruikan! It has to do with you, after all!" _And the thoughts and memories were force fed through their connection at once, swarming him. As he struggled to make sense of them, Galbatorix circled him like a vulture. A sense of dread grew within him. Surely Galbatorix hadn't uncovered the one and only thing he could call his own!

He had already been forced to surrender all he had to his "master": Control, power, freedom. Even his body was not his own, but the product of various magical experiments. Still, he knew there had been a difference between himself and the Nameless dragons of Morzan and the other members of the Foresworn. He still had an identity. He still had a Name, and though he didn't know what it was, he was certain that Galbatorix didn't either!

_"Listen to it carefully, Shruikan!" he was practically shouting now, "Do you hear what I hear? No, I suppose not. You cannot think as well as I. I will tell you, then. The Child of Change! It is your true Name!"_

And Shruikan had subconsciously buried his head under his wings and tried to shut him out, but it would change nothing.

_"And think of how great we would be, Shruikan! Kingdoms will crumble at our feet!" _And the fiery, demented voice continued to bore into his head, melding into the inferno that was already there.

_And from that day forth, Galbatorix truly became my master..._

The night sky above him had brightened by the tiniest tint. It was still much, much too dim to be observed by human eyes, but he knew that morning was coming. It was time to head back.

He'd asked Angela about the prophesy because it might still be relevant to him now. He'd thought it might give him insight on his current Name, as it had so unfortunately done for Galbatorix before. Now, it seemed that he may have been too hopeful. How was he supposed to decipher anything when half the words had question marks beside them? And the prophesy had already been fulfilled, in some ways or another. He'd fallen to the darkness that was Galbatorix. He'd been molded and remolded by magic, and he'd changed much of the country as well. And the Broddring Kingdom had crumbled.

The earth didn't exactly tremble, or turn, with his footstep, though it must be easy for enemies to imagine that it did. This line was most likely figurative, then. Or it was meant to be interpreted loosely. Even so, it was difficult to make heads or tails of it.

Harry landed gently on the Isidar Mithrim. Brom had also came up to the dragonhold, he noticed. Of course he would do it, even though it must've taken much effort, pulleys or not. He couldn't leave Eragon alone in a place like this.

There was a reasonably spacious cavern near the top of the room that would suit him nicely. Settling down at its entrance, he waited for the others to wake. It was possible that he wouldn't be seeing much of them over the next several days. To start off, everyone who considered themselves important, or had a chance at becoming important, would want to meet with Eragon alone. This would certainly include Ajihad, the dwarven king Hrothgar, and the twins. Nasuada, members of the Council, and the character named Trianna would possibly come looking for the Rider as well.

Of course, he thought as he collapsed the ball of black flames he'd been shaping into a small dagger to pass the time, everyone understood the delicacy of the situation perfectly. A Rider would be a valuable but dangerous power, rather like fire, and he was sure that Eragon would be treated as such.

Which reminded him. The people in Farthen Dur, whether dwarf or human, were fearful of magic. Rightly so. But this would be a challenge to overcome if the Rider Order was to be reinstated. People need to be reintroduced to the beautiful, helpful side of magic, so that it could slowly replace the connotation of destruction. Eragon and Saphira seemed to be well equipped for this, which was fortunate as they would most likely be the face of the new Order. There were also a number of way that he could help. He could, perhaps, start by letting his patronus fly among the people. It would cost him next to nothing, and it should make the population more accepting by easing the tension.

He pictured the possible reactions to the patronus as he absentmindedly shaped his fireball into a rake, and then a rose. _Well, that should be fun to see. _

Though it would be rather ironic, that one so steeped in darkness should now be the light-bringer.

* * *

Brom was lying awake. He'd chosen a small cave directly across from Eragon's so that he could keep an eye on his son. It was comforting and created an illusion of safety.

Ajihad had asked him many more questions after Eragon had left. He'd wanted a detailed account of their battles in Teirm and Gil'ead, and was especially interested in who did what. Brom had tried to answer him without blowing Harry's and "Siloam's " stories.

"Both you and Eragon got captured in Gil'ead?" Ajihad had been incredulous, "You entrusted the whole rescue mission to our young friends?"

"The greater danger is inside the fortress, and I could only be in one place at a time. We'd gone over the plan many times together, so no one would make a mistake. Besides, Siloam is an exceptional fighter, Harry is a magician, and Saphira would never allow her rider to come to any harm."

"True, but you could've taken more time to come up with a plan that didn't involve separating."

A valid point, Brom thought. It was exactly what he would've done, if his young companions had not been who they were. He had no good reply to this, so he waited for Ajihad to continue.

"And while Durza was distracted, Harry manipulated a soldier's sword to stab him from behind?"

"True. The plan was for myself and Siloam to shoot him, but he must've seen us when we took aim."

Ajihad paused thoughtfully. "Harry must be exceptional indeed if you're treating him as a contemporary. A younger brother, but a peer nonetheless."

What kind of question was this? "He's a mature adult. It shouldn't be surprising if I treat him as such."

Ajihad laughed. "Normally that would be true, old friend, but not with you. You're always playing the wise elder, and the rest of us are children. You even do this with me sometimes! And I'm at least five to ten years older than young Harry, am I not?"

"Really, is that what I sound like?" Brom asked with innocent confusion. Another good point. He _had _known Harry, or Shruikan, from the age of the Riders, and it must've subconsciously showed. "I apologize, Ajihad. I'll try to watch my old man tone in the future."

His friend sighed dramatically in mock relief, then smiled in good humour. "Don't trouble yourself. We respect your wisdom."

Having lived all these years, Brom knew an opportunity to change the subject when he saw it. "What are you planning to do about the Urgals?"

"Readying the defences and preparing for an attack, mostly. We should be reasonably safe if we keep a tight watch on all the existing entrances. It would be a different story if Galbatorix himself decides to fly - he will simply blast the mountain apart and get in - but I doubt he would come."

_He won't._ "We're not a big enough threat yet, so he wouldn't feel a need to. He wasn't even personally present when we were chasing the lost egg. Shruikan was flying alone, and even he turned back half way through."

"And his dragon, Shruikan, won't be here this time because it would be too far from home."

_Oh he is, but carry on. _"Exactly. Galbatorix wouldn't take the risk."

"And what about Durza, or the Ra'zac?"

"Hmm. He could send both of them, but I don't think he would go all out so early. We should probably expect either one or the other."

"Probably Durza then, since Ra'zacs don't work well with others," Ajihad frowned. "So we're going to be dealing with some thousands of Urgals, hundreds of Kulls, and possibly a Shade. That's just cheery."

Brom shared his sentiments. Such a battle would not be a pretty sight. "Urgals are a chaotic people. Someone must be organizing them by magic to achieve an army of such size. Perhaps if Durza is gone they would turn on themselves? But that's too wishful. I wouldn't count on it."

Ajihad stood, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Perhaps I should alert Du Vrangr Gata as well, though I fear they will fare badly in a magical battle against Durza. The Shade's magical power is greater than all of theirs combined. The fight becomes more balanced if we consider you and Eragon, of course. The twins would also be of some help, though frankly I am unsure if we can count on them."

"Do you suspect them, then?"

They're not the most loyal of people," Ajihad shrugged, "and who could better evade our efforts to inspect minds than the inspectors themselves? The trouble is, they've made themselves very useful to some people in the Council of Elders."

"And all you have is a gut feeling, no proofs?" Brom guessed.

"Exactly. I have no reason to remove them from their responsibilities. I'm considering whether to have other members of the Du Vrangr Gata aid them with the inspections. It would have marginal effect, if any. As it stands, the magicians all answer to them... Ah! It's late, and you need to rest too, old friend..."

...

Brom blinked, taking in the white ceiling of the marble cave. Had he actually managed to doze off for a moment?

He wondered if Ajihad would eventually find out about Murtagh and Harry, and whether he would understand. It was not like Ajihad never expected him to keep some secrets, after all.

Murtagh was just a boy. He shouldn't be punished for his father's crimes. It was sad that poor Selena couldn't hide him as she had hidden Eragon.

And Harry... Brom still wasn't sure how he felt about him. It was hard to forget what he'd done, albeit at Galbatorix's orders. But it was also hard to hate someone who still looked up to him and Saphira as mentors, even after all these years...

_Look at me, so completely ruled by my own emotions,_ Brom realised. Harry, in his position, would be analysing the situation, point of views, rationales and motivations, risks and benefits, alignment of interests... It was amazing how that one always acted so calmly and coolheaded, to the point where one forget the raging fire beneath the ice. The amount of mental discipline it would've taken him was truly impressive.

Brom wondered what kind of magic could've created a being so complex and so contradictory, that even one as sly as Galbatorix could not control.

There was another thing that confused Brom. Shruikan, or Harry, still longed to see others suffer as he had. He'd confessed this himself. Why, then, was he working to reform the Varden for the better? He'd needed to keep Eragon and Murtagh on his side to increase his chance of defeating Galbatorix, but he didn't need the Varden's army. There were many things he could've done that required far less patience and tolerance. He could've hidden himself in Farthen Dur, for example, or even found some way to hijack control. And knowing the pace of Harry's mind, Brom would bet that Harry could think of a dozen more if he wanted.

Brom was getting a small headache. He would think about this when he had more leisure time.

He had enough on his plate as it was.


	19. Chapter 19

When morning finally came, a dwarf arrived at the dragonhold to inform Eragon and Saphira of their audience with King Hrothgar. After reminding them once more not to "do anything stupid", Brom allowed them to take off. "Hope he remembers that," he grumbled, "I can't come up here everyday."

As they had no tasks assigned at the moment, Harry and Murtagh asked to be taken to Tronjheim's library. The collection there was substantial and, although the perspectives of the authors were obviously biased, very interesting to read. Harry was especially intrigued by the race they called the Grey Folks, a people who bound magic to their language and greatly diminished themselves in the process. From what he gathered (and there wasn't much to go on), magic had been too easily accessible then, to the point where control was difficult. This was similar to why children cannot control their accidental magic, or why spells like fiendfyre were so dangerous yet so easy to cast. Harry thought the Grey Folks made a wise decision, even if it meant sacrificing power for control. A world with volatile magic would be a dangerous place.

But the existence of such a condition led to a web of interesting questions. If magic in Alagaesia was inherently intent-based, would it still be possible to cast by thought? To what degree could one manipulate magic itself, as the Grey Folks had done? And, since dragons had lived on the land far before the Grey Folks arrived, were they once able to use magic more freely? They would've at least had better access to their own power, presumably.

On the subject of the Grey Folks, Brom knew only of their existence and that they spoke the Ancient Language. He had not needed to study them intensively, after all. He also professed to know little about casting spells using thoughts alone. "I haven't heard of any instance of non-verbal casting in all my training. The power is in the word, so it must be very difficult. The elves disapprove of it, mind."

"But if they disapprove -"

"Then it's probably possible, yes." Brom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Especially since you cast nonverbal spells all the time. But your spells are very different from the Ancient Language ones, so it probably doesn't apply, right?"

Harry nodded. Unlike the Ancient Language, the spells he'd learned at Hogwarts didn't tire him at all. However, they tend to be significantly weaker, and he had no control over their severity. They bounced off shields, while the Ancient Language spells would push against the wards. He couldn't feed more power into them even if he wanted. Then, since the Hogwarts spells were extremely targeted, successful casting depended on aim. They could be dodged like arrows. This was not the case with the Ancient Language.

"Maybe you have to concentrate on the word really hard?" Brom suggested, "But even then, I'm not sure it would work. It doesn't feel concrete until you actually say it."

"Perhaps this is the type of question people lose themselves in for a lifetime," Harry murmured. He should ask Angela sometime. Delving into the books again, he waded further into the library.

* * *

"Rise, Rider. You need not pay tribute to me."

Eragon stood awkwardly before the stone throne and the wizen yet powerful figure who sat on it. King Hrothgar stirred, as if awakening from a deep sleep. "How do you find our fair home? I hope my nephew has done an adequate job of showing you its amenities."

"Oh! Tronjheim is a beautiful city, and I couldn't ask for a better guide." The king's nephew! Harry had been saying how Orik must be greatly trusted by his clan, as they had felt comfortable enough to send him alone to watch the mind inspections and represent their race. But how come Orik didn't mention this?

The king seemed pleased. "I hoped to welcome you in person sooner, but unfortunately I had to settle some conflicts within my own clan first. The relationship between dwarves and dragons is strained, as you may have realized. Some of my people insist that I should deny you refuge."

"I'm sorry for causing so much trouble for you,"

King Hrothgar dismissed his apology with a wave. "We would be foolish not to expect oppositions. But you have been making much progress already in softening the resistance of my people, Eragon. They speak of being visited by a silver ghost this morning. It was a tiny, delicate little thing. Had it any less grace, they might even call it a dragon."

That must be Harry's strange conjuration, Eragon thought. And he told the dwarf king such.

"You are fortunate to have loyal supporters, boy. But what is your goal now? The age of the Riders is over. They would never rise again." The deep set eyes under the bushy brows had a look that made Eragon feel like he was being tested.

_The Riders would never rise again?_ Saphira echoed the thought. _I think Shruikan would beg to differ… But we should not offend Hrothgar._

_True,_ Eragon thought, _he probably never liked the Riders much in the first place._ "I'm not all that sure," he replied honestly, "For now, I'm just trying to stay out of Galbatorix's sight and use my power to help wherever I can." That sounded about right. Though he didn't know what he wanted to do, the one thing he knew for certain was that people with power must be responsible for using it well.

Hrothgar nodded approvingly. "And you, dragon? What is it that you want?"

Saphira lifted the edge of her lips to growl. _Tell him that I thirst for the blood of our enemies and eagerly await the day when we ride to battle against Galbatorix. I've no love or mercy for traitors and egg breakers like that false king. He held me for over a century and, even now, still has two of my brethren, whom I would free if possible. And tell Hrothgar I think you ready for the task._

Familiar as he was with Saphira's temper and flair for drama, Eragon still flinched at her words. Hrothgar chuckled with grim amusement. "I see that dragons have not changed with the centuries."

Eragon thought this sounded rather like a veiled insult. But at least Hrothgar acknowledged that dragons have opinions. Brom had said that most people didn't understand this.

"And now I must leave you, for I still have urgent matters to attend to. I wish you all the best, but remember this, Rider. If you wish to gain the support of my people, you must prove yourself worthy with your actions. We have long memories and we do not make hasty commitments."

Eragon bowed in thanks, and left the hall of the Mountain King. His head felt full. Things happen so quickly now, and each situation has more layers than onions. Worse of all, he was expected to know what to do! There were people trying to seek his advice already. Had it not been for Brom, he would certainly be swarmed with requests for blessings.

But he was only sixteen! He should be back in Carvahall with Roran! He should be tending his farm, getting married to a nice girl, and maybe poaching deer once every so often at most. He'd never dreamed that he would be fighting a shade, learning magic, befriending Galbatorix's dragon and Morzan's son, playing politics, giving advice…

Saphira nudged him in the back, not so gently. _Did I not say I think you ready? Are you unhappy that I chose you as my rider?_

_Of course not! It's just that… I feel so overwhelmed._

She was silent for a while. _You have my help, as well as Brom's and Shruikan's. And though I cannot yet speak for Murtagh, he is certainly clever enough to aid you in managing the politics here. Fear not, little one. We can make it through this._

Eragon could only suppose she was right. _I think Hrothgar doesn't approve of dragons, but he didn't say it outright._

_Ha! That was wise of him, as he is only knee high to me._

Orik was waiting for them outside, and anxious to hear of their reception. "It went well, but the king is cautious," Eragon told him.

The dwarf laughed. "That's how he got to live so long."

After breakfast, Eragon followed Orik to the library. He was relieved to find that he could still read the books fairly easily. If he'd forgotten what he'd learned…

_Brom would have your skin, yes._

_Thanks for the reminder, Saphira,_ Eragon thought with some irritation. But he could see now that literacy was a wonderful thing. Some of the poems by the dwarf kings were beautiful.

Unfamiliar footsteps appeared behind the bookcase. Though he knew full well that he couldn't be the only person in the library, the sound startled him. There was something about it that reminded him of a hunter's careful, prowling gait. Quickly replacing the book, Eragon made his way toward where Orik was sitting, but his suspicions proved true. He'd sidestepped a corner and found himself face to face with the twins.

"We have been searching for you," one of them said, and both twins bowed low in an outlandish and mocking manner. "Ever since you met with Ajihad, we have been meaning to… _apologize_ for our actions. We have come to pay _homage_ to you.

Eragon tried his best to push back his rising temper, though he couldn't stop himself from flushing. The twins had somehow managed to speak in the most insulting way while leaving Eragon no opening to challenge them. It felt a bit like a very discreet form of … What did Harry call it? Sarcasm?

An idea suddenly came to him. What would Harry say in his place? Maybe this, "Nay, it is I who should pay homage to you! Without your approval, I could _never_ hope to gain entry to Tronjheim."

_Careful!_ Saphira warned, _you're overdoing it!_

_This is hard enough without you making comments!_ Eragon snapped back. With delight, he saw a flicker of irritation in their eyes. But then they smiled and said, "We are honoured that one so important as yourself would speak so highly of us. We are in debt for your kind words."

_They intend to exploit this conversation! Think of the influence they can gain if they convince others that you were being serious…_ Eragon's stomach sank, but there was nothing he could do about it now. "I will remember that when I'm in need."

The twins moved closer, their tone becoming a little more pleasant. "We have searched you for another reason as well, Rider. The very few magicians in Tronjheim have banded together to form a special force. We call ourselves the Du Vrangre Gata, or -"

"The Wandering Path," Eragon interrupted, "I know."

"Your knowledge of the Ancient Language is impressive," they continued smoothly. "As we were saying, the Du Vrangr Gata would like to extend to you an invitation of membership. We can enrich your skills with magic and show you spells we invented. No repayment would be necessary, though if you see fit to share with us some scraps of your knowledge we would be satisfied."

Trade his knowledge for theirs? Did they take him for a half-wit? "No, I'd rather not." What Brom taught him surpassed any words the twins could ever know. Clearly this deal was not to his advantage.

The twins abruptly dropped their façade of smiles. Their expressions turned ugly. "We are not to be trifled with, boy! You may be a Rider, but there are two of us, and -"

"You heard the Rider. His answer is no."

Brom had appeared around the corner. Harry and Murtagh were following closely. They had been on their way out when they caught the later portion of the conversation.

The twins looked visibly annoyed now. Even if they had a chance of intimidating Eragon when he was alone, there was absolutely no way they could touch him now. So they changed tact. "_And_, we have your friend held between our fingers."

They meant him, Harry thought. Since they expected to see an easy victim, he hid his amusement and edged backward until he was safely behind Brom. The twins were smirking again, he noticed. He also noticed a particular large leather-bound volume on the top shelf high above their heads. If it fell a certain way, it could create a decently spectacular domino effect that would culminate in the overturning of a conveniently placed bronze bookend - _No. Now is not the time._

Holding him hostage was a very logical move on their part. Unlike Eragon, he was in no place to refuse an "invitation" to join Du Vrangr Gata. Even Brom and Eragon couldn't come to his rescue without hurting their own image. So far they were correct. Their mistake was in the assumption that Harry, or Du Vrangr Gata for that matter, would be theirs to command.

The twins gave their party one last glare and stalked away. "You needn't be afraid of them," Brom told Eragon, "They have terrible stings, but in terms of magical power and influence they're only insects compared to you. Play nice, but you can stand your ground."

"Those two," Eragon muttered, "deserve a good hard kick between the legs."

"Too true," Brom agreed.

"I think we've stayed in the library long enough for a day," Eragon decided, "I'd like to see the training field."

They met with Orik, who had been polishing his war ax. Then, they passed through stone corridors and mushroom fields before arriving at an open area where both dwarves and humans were practicing. Harry noted the formations of the foot soldiers, the wide variety of weapons, and the light chainmail armours. The Varden's forces seemed most suited for assassinations and guerrilla attacks. Therefore, it would be wise for Ajihad to keep some of the empire's commanders. The dwarven army should fare better in open battle, as one would expect.

Orik was happily greeted by a bearded man with a gigantic sword. His name was Frederick, Harry heard, and he was apparently the lead human blacksmith. On the other side, Eragon's and Murtagh's impeccable swordsmanship was earning the pair nods of approval from those around them. Harry didn't do too badly this time. Brom's blade seldom touched him now, and if he waited long enough for a good opportunity he could even score a hit once or twice. There was a small group of children watching on the side again, but at least they weren't laughing at him this time.

Why were there children on a training field?

They didn't notice him as he strolled over to them, their attention having already shifted somewhere else. "Hello," he smiled gently, "do you come here to play often?"

They looked among themselves, before an older child decided that Harry was safe. "We come to watch our brothers sometimes,"

Of course, Harry realised. It was rather like how Ginny had been so eager to go to Hogwarts with Ron, now that he remembered.

"Are you really friends with the Rider?" A younger child piped.

"I certainly hope so. He's a very good person to be around,"

Another child, a girl with short pigtails, stared at him. "Do you think he'll win? I mean, will he beat the king, Galba...Galbato..." She struggled to remember the name that her parents had no doubt mentioned to her once or twice.

Harry knelt, so that he was at eye level with her. "He will win," A small fire appear over his palm, which he shaped into the towers of Uru'baen as the children gathered around in wonder. "And the world will be in peace again. Beautiful cities will be built all over Alagaesia, filled with great musicians, artists, scientists, philosophers. Everyone - dwarves, humans, elves, _dragons_ \- will become friends and live happily alongside each other..."

Harry watched the children's faces carefully as the black flames twirled and stretched themselves into mountains, forests, houses, dancers. Naturally, they were mesmerised. _Expecto patronum. _

The silver dragon swooped down, gliding smoothly through the fire. Its effect was immediate. "And the Riders will watch over the world. They will spread knowledge, show people wonders, and help when help is needed..."

A boy had reached out to touch the patronus, and Harry extinguished the fire so that he wouldn't get burned accidentally. Children bought into dreams easily. It would be saddening if they didn't.

He'd known that this was an opportunity. With luck, the dream would still be solidly rooted in the back of their minds by the time they grow up. _They will become the future, and the key to building a good society is a sound foundation._


	20. Chapter 20

"Um, Harry, how will all this happen?"

"It will take some very clever thinking and a lot of determination, dear. But most importantly, all of you will need to be very brave and very kind..."

Eragon couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He and Murtagh had noticed the small group at the edge of the training field, but he'd made sure that they'd kept a distance once he saw what Harry was doing. He didn't want to disturb the tender moment.

The children were not at all shy about asking questions. Would they be able to go home again? What were the Riders like? What could they do? Could you make more pretty fire? And Harry was answering each one patiently with a story.

So he stood and listened quietly as his friend painted vivid portraits of the past and the future, partly with words and partly enacted with flames. He grinned with the children as his friend described in details how they explored every corner of the country, how they'd cleverly designed wastewater troughs for a city to keep the river clean, how they'd persuaded races to cooperate and made peace. He'd loved Brom's stories back in Carvahall, especially the rare, coveted ones about Riders and dragons.

But Brom's stories always had an undercurrent of sadness to them, like majestic ruins. And Harry's stories were so... happy. He was showing them paradise.

_"And the Riders will fly again..."_

_"The Age of the Riders is over. They will never rise again..."_

_"I think Shruikan would beg to differ..."_

Eragon remembered Saphira's remark during their audience with King Hrothgar. He had half a mind to agree with the dwarf king at the time, but now he felt the need to protest. The paradise he'd been shown was too beautiful, too tangible to ignore. It had to be possible.

Eragon would ask Harry about it later. Harry seemed to have a rational argument for everything. Surely there wouldn't be any doubts then.

* * *

Murtagh stood to the side and watched on as Harry wove a carefully abridged version of the Riders' history, his black fire dancing in front of his audiences' eyes as he masterfully framed the stories to send out the right messages. He also noticed that Harry was artfully steering the conversation well away from battles, which would've led to questions about killing, losses and, inevitably, how the Riders were destroyed.

And for the future, Harry had painted a fantasy. Peace, prosperity, security, excitement, enlightenment... it had everything that anyone could ever want. Every detail stretched reason to its most optimistic extreme, while still remaining logically attainable. And as if that wasn't enough, Harry was augmenting the effect with magic. Of course the children would be entranced. Even Murtagh himself could hardly resist such a powerful, flawless presentation.

It was a shame that he had to have heard an uncomfortably similar vision from Galbatorix first.

Harry and Galbatorix had a lot in common, so much so that it was almost fitting. They were both master strategists, and they both could be very convincing. Perhaps this was why Harry had been able to predict Galbatorix's reactions and possible next moves so accurately.

"...It will take some very clever thinking and a lot of determination, dear. But most importantly, all of you will need to be very brave and very kind. You'll need to help each other as brothers and sisters. Can you do that for me?"

The little faces bobbed eagerly, promising to help bring about the paradise. Murtagh looked from one pair of wide eyes to another. He supposed he must've looked like this on his eighteen's birthday, when he'd fervently pledged himself to the King.

But such a comparison would be unfair. Harry was not asking much of the children, only their good behaviour. It was a perfectly innocuous request, and it was for their own good. Besides, there was nothing wrong with the dream itself. It was a worthy goal for anybody.

Galbatorix would've never bothered with the commoners' children.

He may have been clever enough to see the worth of someone like Murtagh, but he lacked the foresight required to win the people. Paradise cannot be built by fear and brute force from the top down. But from the ground up like this... It might just be possible.

Murtagh was glad he'd stuck with his friends.

* * *

It was getting late, and the duellers on the training field eventually began to take the children home. Most of them did wait for a moment out of curiosity and politeness, though they didn't stay long. A number of people recognized Eragon and bowed to him respectfully before departing.

"What do you think, Brom the story-teller?" Harry asked once the small circle had cleared, "Not bad for a novice, eh?" He'd noticed Eragon and Murtagh standing a distance away, though definitely still within earshot, a while ago. And, judging from their expressions, they'd more or less arrived at the conclusions he'd hoped they would draw.

"Very good," Brom rubbed his beard, "not what I expected from you, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised..."

"Harry?" He turned. Eragon's brows were furrowed, he saw, as if debating a big question. His eyes seemed to be hoping for a particular answer. "Do you really believe we can do it? Bring the dragons back, I mean."

_Well you've certainly asked the right person_. "That's not a question. You might as well ask whether I'm breathing, or whether we'll see the sun tomorrow."

"And the Riders' Order?"

"Of course. But we could do better, too. We have an opportunity to _rebuild_ the Riders' Order, to enhance its strengths and reduce its weaknesses through learning from the past. And we'll make sure that the Riders come back even greater than before." He'd given the subject much thought. The world would fare much better with a force that cannot conquer and rule due to inherent limitations, yet had enough power to significantly influence the outcome of any conflict. The Riders were necessary for this.

_Muffliato, _he casted. "Let's see what we've got to work with, shall we? We have you and Saphira, and we have two eggs waiting in Uru'baen. Three Riders have been known to accomplish many things. And if Brom here doesn't suffer a touch of the brain fever - Sorry! Sorry! Forgive me! - we'll be boosted by much of the experience and structure of the Riders of old. And - Ouch! Seriously?" At this point he could no longer go on, as Brom had given him an especially hard whack in the ribs.

"And?" Eragon asked.

"Never mind. I forgot what I was going to say." No he hadn't, but perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to say it after all.

A young woman was coming over the hill. Her gown was a rich wine red and elegantly cut. Harry knew she hadn't come to practice, as she had brought neither a bow nor a sparring partner. Here for Eragon, perhaps? He continued to watch her out of the corner of his eyes until she, as expected, approached Brom. "Hello Brom, welcome back to Tronjheim," she said sweetly, "Could you tell me where Rider Eragon is?"

"I'm here," Eragon said, smiling.

She curtsied. She would be considered very beautiful, Harry noticed. Murtagh probably agreed, judging by the way his eyes widened slightly. "I am Nasuada."

That explained how she knew where Eragon was, Harry thought. From what Orik said, her network of sources would be quite substantial, albeit much smaller than Ajihad's or Brom's.

"I have a message from my father, Ajihad. Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes, I would," Eragon told her.

"He is pleased that you are doing well. He would also like to ask your friend Harry to meet with him in his office today, when convenient."

Harry bowed and introduced himself. _So t__he message is technically for me, but you wanted a chance to meet Eragon. Cleverly done, Nasuada. _"Do you think he would see me now?" He wondered how the walk back to the city would be like.

"I think he would prefer that, yes," Nasuada smiled, "I will walk back with you. Farewell, Rider Eragon. I hope we shall soon meet again."

They set off toward Tronjheim, leaving Murtagh and Eragon to practice a bit longer. Nasuada walked with an even stride, and Harry could tell that she was constantly adjusting it so that it neither fell too heavily nor too lightly. The same care went into her posture and expression. Her back was always perfectly straight, and the corner of her lips was always held in the perfect slight smile. _You try very hard to appear mature and refined, so that others would take you seriously, _Harry thought. This was also evident in her clothes and her officious choice of words.

"Ajihad is an important man," Harry remarked, "he humbles himself by waiting for me."

Nasuada tilted her head charmingly. "It is not an urgent matter. And my father has much respect for you,"

_Interesting. What had Ajihad told you?_ It was clear that she'd added the last part probingly, to gain a better understanding of his place relative to her father and to Eragon. Most likely, she had been vaguely told that Harry was of some significance, but no more than that.

"I'm honoured," Harry returned a warm smile, "I'll have to thank him for his kind opinion."

They continued to make polite conversation. Nasuada mentioned Arya, asked about her jailbreak, commented on how tiring it must have been to travel from Gi'lead to here in such a short time, and naturally went on to ask about Eragon's adventures. Harry stuck to their story, wove around anything she shouldn't know, and used the word "we" whenever possible in his narrative. She was doing very well in making use of this time, he thought, not only to find out more about Eragon but also about himself. Not quite as smooth as her father, but she was getting there.

She left him on his own under the Isidar Milthrim ("I am expected elsewhere," she said), after he'd confirmed that he knew the way. Arriving at the heavy oak doors, he knocked and entered Ajihad's office upon receiving permission.

"Please have a seat, Harry," Ajihad greeted him from his desk. Harry knew that Ajihad was still observing him carefully. He settled comfortably into one of the small armchair that Brom and Eragon sat in last time.

Ajihad sat up straighter in his own chair. "The twins have come to me with a request. They asked that I recruit you into the Du Vrangr Gata. They pointed out that magical proficiency of any level was valuable to us, and assured me that they would have no trouble finding work for you. Surely, they reasoned, the Rider would be willing to part with his servant for the good of us all."

Of course they would.

"They seem to be under the impression that you are still a slave, Harry," Ajihad continued. "I disagree. I also believe that you are much more than a servant to Eragon. Am I correct?"

_It's interesting that you would try to play on my emotions, Ajihad. _"I am grateful for your kind words, Ajihad," Harry said earnestly, "The five of us have become good friends during our journey. But I have indeed pledged myself to the last of the dragons and the first of the Riders. I cannot claim to be anything but."

"Regardless, I realized that I cannot tell you to join anything against your will. This is the reason I am informing you of this now, so that I can give the twins an answer tomorrow."

_You half expect me to refuse, _Harry thought. Clearly Ajihad realized as well that whatever "work" the twins had planned for him wouldn't be pleasant. But Du Vrangr Gata was exactly where Harry wanted to be, at least for now. "Thank you for your consideration, Ajihad, but there is no need to worry on my account. I would be very happy to join Du Vrangr Gata. It is only right that I contribute to our shared goal in the modest way I can."

Ajihad nodded. "Very well. I will tell Trianna, the leader of Du Vrangr Gata, to expect you tomorrow. But you understand the reason for my concern, Harry. Due to the way your current situation would be presented to them, they may decide to waste your magical talents on... menial tasks."

"Believe me, Ajihad, I've spent a very large part of my life cleaning dishes for others." A_round fifteen years, in fact. _"I understand that chores are necessary to the maintenance of the barracks. They do not offend me." _Try again, Ajihad, and maybe then I'll give you the answer you're looking for. _

Ajihad planted his palms on the mahogany table and leaned forward toward him. His expression turned serious, with just the tiniest hint of pleading. "You also understand that we must prepare for a battle soon, Harry. Hundreds of Kulls. Thousands of Urgals. And we expect that Durza will command them, and you know how fiendish he is."

_Ah, the guilt trip, _Harry thought. He nodded contemplatively. The enemy force was strong, and Durza's presence would dramatically tip the battle in the Empire's favour, as per Galbatorix's design.

Ajihad sensed an opportunity. "We are numbered, Harry. Our forces are small, and our spellcasters weak compared to the invading force. We are a midget before a giant. If we are to survive the onslaught, we will need everything we have. Brom has told me of your journey. The feats you have accomplished, such as defeating Durza with a borrowed sword, were not rudimentary and by no means menial."

"You would not say the same had you been a magician. Lifting an object is arguably the most rudimentary and menial task a spellcaster can perform. And a sword is not heavy. Powerful spellcasters would scoff at the idea that something so basic should even be considered in a fight."

"Perhaps, but your stroke of genius enabled you to escape unscathed from Durza and from Gi'lead. This is not an achievement ordinary magicians can claim."

Again, Harry took a moment to consider. _This could work, I suppose. _He allowed his excessively enthusiastic smile to drop into something more real. "I'm not a warrior like Brom, Ajihad." Ajihad was looking at him expectantly, clearly indicating that he should go on. He sighed. "I merely play tactics. This may or may not be of use to you."

Ajihad inclined his head. "Thank you. I will call upon you when the need arise." Harry knew that Ajihad would not be so unsubtle as to ask him how a slave servant could've learned strategy. He would save that for their next meeting.

_You've succeeded, Ajihad. Your objective for this meeting has been to make me tip my hand, to find supporting evidence for your theory. My objective has been to gain entry to your war room while remaining in accordance with your theory, which I can see a little bit more clearly now. It appears that we will both walk away happy. _

"And now I will bid you goodnight, Harry. Until we meet again,"

Harry rose and bowed before turning to leave. If he was to start reporting to Du Vrangr Gata, then he'd better find a quarter on the lower floors before someone becomes curious. It would be preferable to choose somewhere slightly higher up, though, so that the floor would be less populated. Perhaps the 20th level?

Ajihad stopped him just as he reached the door. "One more question. What is your opinion on our likelihood of victory? Not for individual conflicts, but the war. The bigger picture."

_You're the third one to ask me this today, Ajihad. _He turned once more to face Ajihad fully. "It depends on what we define as victory, Ajihad. Our chance of defeating Galbatorix is reasonably high." _Chief__ly because he has a number of definite exploitable flaws, and I will not rest until he's dead. _

"But if victory is defeating Galbatorix _and _ensuring that the world ends off better than it had been before Galbatorix's reign, as I imagine is your goal, then it becomes hard for me to say. There are too many uncertainties at the present. But I do have faith that it is possible."

"And it's a goal that must be pursued regardless of probabilities," Ajihad said softly.

Harry bowed once more and exited the study. _The outlook of victory... _

There had been one more reason why he'd been so confident that the dragons and Riders would be restored, the one he hadn't told Eragon. It was that he didn't quite think they were gone in the first place.

He refused to believe that hundreds of the wisest, strongest beings, whose organization had withstood the test of millennia, would be utterly and completely wiped out by a madman and a child's tantrum.

Devastated, yes. Destroyed and disbanded, yes. But _eradicated_? Galbatorix didn't pay enough attention to details for that. He'd seen him make many mistakes, and many assumptions that were not necessarily true. There were many occasions that something he did or neglected to do, in preparation for the war, could've given away his position, strength, or plan.

True, the Riders had most likely missed all the initial warning signs, or they would've came to rescued him. He'd hoped for that as a child for quite some time, actually. But they should've still had plenty of time to make the necessary arrangements, some sort of backup plan. And even if they hadn't, the dragons themselves would've done something. So far he'd already thought of three possible procedures, entirely within their power, that would each have preserved some portion of their race. Surely they, whose knowledge was beyond his comparison, would've found them as well. Surely they would be waiting now, in some form or another, outside the country or carefully hidden. And when the time is right, they would reveal themselves.

_As long as I live and the world sees daylight, I will ensure their return. And conversely... _

If he'd told this to his friends, they would call him out on wishful thinking. And it was rather wishful, he had to admit. His optimism was based largely on a set of imperfect assumptions and a gut feeling. But this would be the one time he'd indulge himself. As Ajihad said, there are times where the probability of success is irrelevant.

And, he'd had too much faith in the Riders' might for far too long.

* * *

**Haha Murtagh drew parallels between Harry and Galbatorix, but still got convinced. I wonder if the transition was too abrupt.**

**Harry genuinely cared about the kids, but he often does things for more than one reason. Here he was simultaneously targeting the childrens' parents &amp; possible onlookers (to get them used to magic), and Eragon and Murtagh (to earn a bit more faith with them). **

**How do you like my new picture? :D I tried to do Harry and Shruikan justice, but I can't draw hair... or scales...**


	21. Chapter 21

"Good morning," Harry smiled good-naturedly at the first person he saw upon entering the "headquarter" of the league of magicians, "I've recently arrived at Tronjheim, and I've been told to come here." The place was relatively small and cramped, considering its purpose. He spied some people huddled in one of the smaller rooms toward the back, whose door had been left slightly ajar without much care. This was where they were keeping Arya, most likely.

Eragon would love to know this little piece of information. In fact, Harry had been a tad bit surprised that the boy had not tried to come down here in person yet. He suppressed a sigh. Arya was complicated, though she and Brom had worked together before. She'd lied to Eragon about the distance to Ellesmera, for one. Harry would think about her another time. His brain was already running at full capacity. If he thought about any more things he might space out.

The person Harry had just greeted, a stout man in a rough white tunic, sized him up with mild interest. "Have the twins assigned you anything yet?"

"No," said Harry.

The other magician visibly relaxed. "Thought you didn't look like the important type," he muttered.

"True, true," Harry smiled, "though I'm surprised as to why you mentioned the twins but not the lady Trianna. I've been told that she is the leader of Du Vrangr Gata."

The other chuckled at that. "Everyone knows the twins hold the true power. Trianna can't do anything about it -" Harry made sure to hide his amusement as he was interrupted by a small but annoyed cough. A tall woman, who he presumed was Trianna, had walked in just in time to hear the last part of their conversation. Her eyes looked poisonous.

"L...lady Trianna,"

Trianna marched up to him, whirling him around by his collar so that his nose was an inch from hers. "You were saying?" She growled. The golden snake bracelet on her upper arm unwound, lifting its head to hiss at the poor man as well. Harry wondered if it could think for itself? Unlikely. Obviously Trianna was controlling its movements. Its hisses were meaningless.

The snakes in his other life were much more intelligent than the ones here. They had enough self awareness to think and speak then, but not here. Their minds were too unfocused to express nothing more than fuzzy emotions. Of course, the reverse was true for dragons.

_Don't space out, _Harry reminded himself. The magician in the white tunic was still wearing a terrified expression. It seemed that, though Trianna's influence was limited, she was still capable of delivering painful retribution. She sighed with annoyance before rounding on Harry, allowing the man to carefully edge away. "Harry, right? Ajihad said you arrived with the Rider."

Clearly Ajihad didn't tell her too much about him, probably to see how he would act if given his way. She'd lowered her voice in a subconscious attempt to hide their conversation from eavesdroppers, Harry noticed, in case he really did have some powerful connections that might threaten her leadership.

Harry looked down modestly. "I couldn't help much, but at least I could cook decent meals." From Trianna's relieved smile, he could tell that she'd accepted him as just a manservant. It hadn't been difficult to convince her, since it was what she wanted to believe in the first place.

But he expected that Trianna would probably play nice just in case. If she was smart, that is.

She did. "Can you heal?"

Harry nodded in affirmation.

"Very good. We can use some help in patching the elf up. I expect you don't know enough anatomy to fix broken bones and deep injuries, but you can help us heal the surface wounds -"

Harry was about to accept the assignment when two sets of brash footsteps heralded the entrance of the Twins. Hands behind their back, they pranced into the room and strolled up to him without sparing Trianna a second glance. This annoyed the sorceress tremendously. "Excuse me," she told them, "we were having a conversation before you rudely interrupted!" From her exasperated look, Harry imagined that had the Twins any less power, they would've been long dead.

But as this was not the case, they only gave her a condescending sneer and rounded on Harry. "We received notice that the Rider's ... friend would be serving in our ranks starting today," they said with relish, emphasizing the word "serving". "Well, let's start with cleaning out the stables, shall we? And after that... how about the outhouses?"

_They think they can intimidate me by leaning over me like that? _Harry schooled his face into an appropriately afraid expression and bitterly fought the urge to mince them up and pour the pulp that was their carcasses down the outhouses where they belonged, as they ordered him to finish his chores before supper time "or else". _Soon enough, soon enough._

A careful glance to the side saw Trianna watch on with an expression that mildly resembled pity, or more likely empathy. No doubt she felt they were treating her the same way. Harry carefully dropped his gaze, but filed the information away for future use. Having practiced this time and again at the Dursleys', he was far too natural for anyone to notice.

"... be grateful, you whelp, understand?" The twins were still saying, and smirked at his stuttered "yes, sirs." Perhaps they'd expected him to protest, but he remembered Quirrell and simply shook like a leaf. Trianna folded her arms as the twins swept out of the room, content. "You should get used to that," she advised flatly.

Harry gave her a small, shaky smile. "You are a kind leader, Lady Trianna. Thank you."

He'd been sure to use the word "leader", and it seemed to have its intended effect. Trianna nodded regally, rather haughtily, but deemed to award him with a small smile in return.

Cleaning the stables and, yes, outhouses took no effort at all. He suspected that most magicians would bristle at the mere notion of using magic for cleaning, rather like being ordered to use their most treasured sword to shovel dung. Himself, however, had no such qualms. All it took was a simple _Scourgify, _and the place was clean. Not wanting his labours to seem too easy, however, he sat in the now perfectly fresh haystacks of the stables and practiced some spells before returning. The horses were understandably frightened at first, but their minds were easy enough to calm. It was a bit irritating that he still couldn't cast duel-worthy spells from Harry Potter's repertoire, to the point that he'd mostly given up on them. But he'd long stopped fretting over them. After all, he was hardly defenceless now.

By afternoon, he learned that Du Vrangr Gata was responsible for feeding itself, as expected, and that he would from now on be responsible for their meals, as expected. Again, using a liberal amount of magic, he conducted the pots and scoops to cook themselves while his thoughts wandered to here and there. His full attention was brought back to the small, cluttered kitchen, however, when the door opened and a frail-looking young woman entered. She had a petite stature, and the boniness of her limbs suggested weakness - that is, if she was not a magician. A magician's appearance doesn't always correlate to their power in the way that people think.

"Um, I was the cook here before you came," she bit her lips, a little awkwardly. "If you need to know where anything is, or need help getting started..."

"I'm finding everything fine, but thank you all the same," Harry smiled cheerily. He knew she was feeling guilty that he'd replaced her as the laughing stock of Du Vrangr Gata, but was at the same time elated that she could finally escape the servant duties. "I've been doing this for as long as I could remember, so it's no trouble at all. My name is Harry. And yours?"

Her violet eyes finally fluttered up to meet his. "Elva. Er...It's good to meet you."

Elva stayed for a while after that. She didn't touch the pots, but she was friendly enough to strike up a conversation with him. She'd been with Du Vrangr Gata for ten years now, he'd learned. Since then, her work consisted mainly of cooking, cleaning, and occasionally tending to less important injuries after a battle. They didn't treat her as much because she was small and weak.

"Have you learned any spells that can be used in a fight?" Harry asked, tidying a table with a wave before sitting down on it. Elva had taken the only stool in the room.

Elva shook her head, a bit ashamed. "I suppose there's a reason why I got stuck doing the chores," she mumbled, before realizing what she'd said. Her eyes widened guiltily.

Harry chuckled. "No offense taken," he waved, causing the spoon that was stirring the pot to ladle some soup into a small bowl near by. "Honestly, I'm in a much better place than I was" - _which is true_ \- "and I'm grateful for it." _Though not in the way that one might think. _He proffered the bowl to her, asking her for her opinion on the flavouring. "I was fortunate to travel with Rider Eragon and Brom, though. They taught me some battle spells, so that I wouldn't be a hindrance if we met trouble. I can teach you, if you like, since you'll be needing them now."

"That'll be brilliant!" Harry could feel the excitement spike in her. "Oh, and your soup tastes great. It's perfect."

"Glad you like it," he smiled, committing her face to memory. _Elva. Interesting name. _

Du Vrangr Gata had called her small and weak, but they were comparing a child then to adult standards. And if the girl has half as much potential as whoever named her believed... Well. He would find out when he start teaching her.

Supper was not unenjoyable. The Twins held themselves in far too high regards to come and eat with the common magicians. Harry did not believe they would even bother to check whether he did his work, but they actually did come back to growl at him just as he finished _scourgify_ing the dishes. After they'd eventually stalked off, Harry climbed twenty flights of stairs up to his new quarter. It was highly unlikely that anyone would come to visit, but he kept his room in inspectable order just in case. He briefly debated whether to take another "stroll" for the night or to go up to the dragonhold, but eventually decided to stay put. He really did need some sleep, and thankfully, it had come quickly enough.

* * *

The first thing he noticed upon waking, before he even opened his eyes, was a small creak that sounded suspiciously like the movement of a door.

That certainly wasn't supposed to happen.

Not moving a muscle and looking for all intents and purposes as if he was still asleep - and this he also had _plenty_ of practice doing - Harry used the sound of the soft footsteps to determine that he had two visitors, and that they were both standing near the doorway. They did not linger long, for around ten seconds later the door carefully creaked closed.

Harry opened his eyes in a heartbeat then, bolting upright. The hourglass beside his bed showed that it should still be night, but any thoughts of sleep he had already vanished with the first creak of the door.

He'd reached out with a wisp of his mind and given the two visitors a very soft sweep, just before they departed. And he'd recognize those two oily minds anytime.

He'd been surprised that the Twins came back to check on him after supper, and did not think too much of it. But the Twins felt the need to get up in the middle of the night and climb up to the twentieth floor, just to check that a measly servant was in fact in bed as he should be? There could only be one explanation for this. Despite all the care he'd taken in constructing his false memories, despite all his careful effort to cover his traces, despite _constant vigilance, _Galbatorix suspected something. And he, Harry-Shruikan, was being watched very closely.

A chilling yet suffocating feeling bubbled within him, welling up to his throat, before it was pressed back to the turbulent, smoky wasteland within his mind. He knew it to be fear, something he hadn't had to experience since very long ago. But now that he once again had something to lose, it was back in full force. Should he lose, if he should be captured again...

Well. He never expected anything he did to be risk-free, and he _had_ made a number of radical moves. Galbatorix was clever. He'd hoped that his own intelligence was at least on par with his old 'master's ', but at best it would be a tough game. And now, Galbatorix had started to become aware of his opponent.

Of course, there was still the matter of _what_ Galbatorix suspects. He could've believed that Harry was an elf sent to protect the rider, which was most likely. Harry had been trying to pass a great part of his work off as the elves' involvement, after all. Or, Galbatorix could've reached the same conclusion as Ajihad, which was also plausible.

Or, hell forbid, he could've caught on to the truth. Here luck was on Harry's side, since the truth was rather _unusual _and definitely not the most logical explanation.

Harry lay back down into his pillow, willing his heartbeat to calm while weighing his options.

The degree of freedom with which he had to work would be significantly limited now, but all things considered, his outlook was still fair. Pretending he hadn't noticed the Twins tonight and continuing on with his original plan seemed to be the best strategy. It would be useless to try to get information out of the Twins since, knowing Galbatorix, they would've been told absolutely nothing... But all the more reason to keep them alive. At least he could pick up some clue on what Galbatorix was thinking by watching what he tells them to do.

Should he tell his friends and allies?

Not a good idea. It would only alarm them, and that would only succeed in making them either more likely to slip up or more dubious of his ability to stay out of Galbatorix's hold. Perhaps they may even come to the conclusion that he'd be safer to everyone dead, and act accordingly...

But the idea of them knowing absolutely nothing didn't sit well with him either. Should he... fail, they would be doomed. They could not afford to be surprised in this war. And it would be a cold day in hell before he would allow Galbatorix to win.

He sighed, before sending out a tendril of thought to the marble caves at the very top of Tronjheim. The distance was just a tad bit too large to converse comfortably, but it wasn't terribly so.

_'Saphira', _he prodded her, very gently. It wouldn't do for her to jump up in alarm and accidentally trample Eragon or worse.

A small stirring followed by a wave of surprise indicated that she was awake. _'Shruikan?'_

_'I sincerely apologize for waking you at this hour, Magnificent One. Can you keep a secret for me, please? Even from Eragon and Brom and Murtagh?'_

He could tell through their connection that she was simultaneously confused and curious. There was a small pause on her side, then assent.

_'Thank you, and please, it's imperative to me that this remains a secret. You see, I've got a bit of a problem...'_

* * *

**AN: Since Harry and Brom would be there to stop Eragon from giving crappy blessings, Elva is completely AU. **


	22. Chapter 22

"My king, Ajihad has given the man Siloam command over a small branch of the Varden's forces - around twenty men strong. We have otherwise seen nothing noteworthy."

_Is that so?_

Galbatorix leaned back in his throne. "What is the Rider's disposition and attitude toward the Varden? Toward the dwarves? What are his plans? Do not infuriate me by telling me you have no idea."

"He is on friendly terms with the Varden, but he is careful to remain independent from them, my king. This decision is strongly backed by Brom, the old man who accompanied him." One of the nameless twins said quickly. Galbatorix sneered at their image in the scrying bowl.

This piece of information was both favourable and deleterious. On the one hand, it meant that there would be fewer factors to hinder the Rider - Eragon from being swayed to his side. On the other hand, it could indicate that the young man had a stiffer backbone than he would like, and may be unwilling to bend to either side. "And how is he faring among the dwarves?"

"They receive him grudgingly, though they have not been overtly hostile, my king."

Galbatorix nodded. "Fine. What do you know of his intentions? What does he wish to do in Tronjheim, if not to join the Varden?"

Two bald heads turned toward each other. "He most likely does not know, my king. He is still a boy, barely a man, and young men of his age are often -"

"He does not know, or you do not know?" Galbatorix cut across them coldly.

"Er... A-a bit of both, my king?"

Galbatorix sneered at the fools again, watching them shiver for about half a minute. "That is fair enough," he eventually allowed, "he has not been there long, after all, and you two have not been completely useless to me. Do remember, though, that I will be expecting an answer to this question."

Their shoulders sagged obviously with relief.

"You say Siloam has been promoted. What of the other man, Hari?"

"He has been assigned to chores within Du Vrangr Gata, my king, and he is performing them without complaints. He has no possessions aside from the clothes on his back and a sword. As one would expect, from an escaped slave -"

"Yes, yes I realise," Galbatorix waved him off impatiently, thinking. Of course they would find nothing on him or in his room. He would not be that stupid. Anything suspicious would have been left with the Rider's possessions, in the dragonhold and far out of the twins' reach. "Does he visit the Rider regularly?"

"He has been kept busy, my king."

"Perhaps at night?"

"Fast asleep in his quarters, my king."

_Well. _"Continue to watch him. See to it that he does not go anywhere he is not supposed to be without your knowledge."

They furrowed their brows. "My king, if we may ask, why do you suspect -"

"Am I to understand, that you have a problem with this simple order?" Galbatorix's eyes narrowed dangerously. The sluggards. Clearly they were unhappy to give up their precious beauty sleep.

And whatever gave them the idea that they could ask questions?

"N-no, of course not, my king..."

"Good. Get to work."

Leaping off his throne, Galbatorix began to pace. This man, Hari, was almost certainly affiliated with the elves - yet he was not an elf said the twins. His eyes were not slanted like theirs, according to the twins. Well, they could be wrong, seeing as they had probably seen only one elf in their entire lives. But then, who was he? The elves hardly trusted anyone apart from themselves, especially after the fall of the Riders. Galbatorix did not enjoy waiting for information, or _waiting _for anything. He wanted answers, _now._

_Hari. Mister Invisible. Former owner of this sword. One and the same, perhaps? _

_And if so, who by hellfire are you?_

* * *

"The Word for a shield is _skolir, _Elva."

They were alone in the kitchen, as always, where everyone else was loathe to go. The pots were boiling away merrily over the fire, stirred gently by hovering wooden spoons. Harry settled back against the wooden table, and watched his student's progress.

"Skolir," Elva repeated obediently. It took her numerous tries to manage the correct pronunciation.

"Good. Now let's try," Harry grinned, causing a scoop to dip itself into the water bucket. "Skolir!" Elva cried as it flung its content at her. The water rippled as it sloshed against the barrier that had formed just in time. Behind it, Elva stood proudly, completely dry. "Very nice. Now how do you feel?"

"I can feel myself use some energy," she considered this briefly, "but I'm not tired."

"Impressive, especially for your first time," So far, he seemed to be right in thinking her promising. Harry waved, ladling a scoop of water again. This time, the scoop began to spin in mid-air, slowly gaining speed. Elva looked on with fascination as the water was held in place against the side of the spoon by centrifugal force. "Shall we try again? It will be more difficult this time."

Elva nodded. "Skolir!" As the scoop dropped, the unrestrained water shot toward her shield. It held, but this time Elva was panting slightly. Harry offered her a scoop of water to drink.

"The water was travelling faster that time, so it took you more power to stop it. If I'd tossed the whole bucket at you, you would feel more tired also."

She nodded again. "That makes sense,"

"Sometimes, one thing you could do to reduce the amount of magic you need is to be more specific. Suppose instead of saying 'shield', _skolir_, you specified 'shield against water', _skolir fra adurna_, you might find that you would have a easier time. The downside, of course, is that you have to know the word for what you are shielding against -"

"Hey Harry! Is supper ready yet? I'm very hungry today!" A voice shouted from outside the stained cloth curtains that separated the kitchen from the more presentable areas.

"Just about," Harry replied, taking the pots off the fire. Together, they rejoined the seated members of Du Vrangr Gata, who greeted them amiably. "I see you've had two patients to heal today."

"Oh yes, turns out they were from the Varden's last raid, and only just returned. Wounded painfully, they were," said the stout man who'd first "welcomed" Harry into Du Vrangr Gata, who Harry now know as Simbad. "One had a giant gash in his thigh that's starting to become inflamed, and the other had a broken arm. But at least all of them made it back."

"Did they say where they were attacking?" Harry asked. "And how did you treat the inflammation?"

The wiry man sitting beside Simbad - Micah was his name, Harry believed - shrugged as he dug into his bowl. "No... Though frankly, I don't really care either. It's all the same to me."

"About the inflammation," Simbad scratched his head while scooping stew with his other hand, "at first we were only going to heal the wound normally and let his body take care of the rest - I mean, something's better than nothing, right?"

Micah nodded in agreement. "But then we remembered the jar of ointment that Angela dropped off two days ago before disappearing off to wherever she lives nowadays again. Said she was trying a new recipe for _fun_ and made too much, can you believe that? Anyways, we've never used this before, so we thought we'd try it on him. Seems to be working pretty nicely, too. It's only been two hours and the leg's barely swollen anymore. All we have to do now is seal the wound, and it'll be good as new...The mushroom stew's excellent, Harry. And I can't even begin to praise your fish! How is it possible to scorch it so crisply and evenly on the outside, but still keep it soft on the inside?"

"I've got a lot of experience," Harry smiled, accepting the compliment graciously. Though he hadn't bothered to make anything like this before, he wasn't exactly lying either. He certainly did have a lot of experience scorching things - houses and warriors, mostly. "I'm glad you like it."

"You continue to impress me!" Simbad laughed heartily, "There's hardly anything to work with down here. How you manage to cook fish and mushroom more than one way is a miracle! Oh, and um, when you next see Trianna, could you do me a favour and ask her if she can get me issued a new pair of boots?"

"Sure, I'll ask her for you when I see her."

In the eighteen days since Harry's arrival, he'd learned a number of things about the group he was now officially a member of. The magicians of Du Vrangr Gata were proud of their power. They were loved and envied by many, and feared by some. However, their fluency in the Ancient Language was about the same as Harry's fluency in Latin - that is, next to nil. Within their ranks, respect correlated almost entirely with magical power - hence why the Twins were so feared. And while they were affiliated with the Varden, they considered themselves a separate entity. This meant that Ajihad could not simply appoint anyone to lead it, or decide to remove anyone from it, or change its disposition in any way - though he had no need to at the moment in any case.

During battles, their role consisted of shielding the warriors and healing the wounded. During the short segments of peacetime, they diagnosed and treated illnesses. However, due to their limited knowledge in both magic and physiology, their patients were usually sent away with orders of bed rest, and the magicians usually ended up "busying" themselves with card games and gambling. Not many trained their magic regularly, if at all.

The magicians were at first indifferent toward Harry. Nevertheless, they were unresisting toward Harry's good natured efforts at making conversation - or his apparently above-average cooking, and soon enough they were all on friendly terms even if they thought of Harry as their servant. Trianna, in particular, seemed to enjoy Harry's company very much, often bestowing upon Harry the honour to run her errands and deliver her messages. Of course, she was most interested in getting closer to Eragon, and asked Harry all sorts of questions ranging from Eragon's habits and daily routine, to his interests and pet peeves, to even his taste in women. Harry contended with most of these by answering vaguely, or simply declaring that he hadn't been watching. Trianna didn't seem to mind. It wasn't his business to know things, after all.

He could no longer fly up to the Dragonhold, due to the possibility of a surprise inspection of his quarters by the Twins - but fortunately they, and Galbatorix he assumed, didn't seem any more interested in him than they were. Their attention also didn't stop him from sending his patronus in his place. Eragon, Brom and Murtagh sometimes came to visit him (though usually at different times) as well. Brom continued to tutor him in swordfighting on the training field. The twins eventually noticed this but grudgingly allowed Harry to carry on due to the fact that Harry always finished his chores, and more importantly due to Brom glaring at them. Eragon and Murtagh expressed pity that he'd been forced into such an undesirable job. Harry simply congratulated Murtagh on his new title as commander. Apart from the necessity of enduring the Twins' presence, he wasn't bothered by his position - it reminded him a little of a Shakespeare play he'd read a long, long time ago. Othello, was it? In which the trusted standard-bearer was seemingly everyone's right hand man, but in reality everyone's puppeteer?

"How do you find your new comrades?" Harry asked Murtagh.

"Decently competent - at least when I drilled them this morning, reasonably intelligent, and reasonably cooperative. They listen to me, but they're more familiar with each other than they are with me," Murtagh shrugged. "It's better than I can hope for."

Harry nodded. Knowing what he did about Murtagh, this was more than enough for the young man to shape into a successful team. It seemed that Ajihad took care in setting him up for a good start.

"Oh, and Harry, Ajihad would like Eragon, Brom, me and you to be present at the next council meeting, tomorrow noon. We'll be meeting in his office, and he'll lead us from there. He asked me to tell you."

"Thanks, Siloam, I'll be there." He would look forward to this.

Murtagh gave him a fleeting grin, before ducking back out of the kitchen to return to his own duties. They'd taken care to act in accordance with Harry and Murtagh's cover stories, just as a precaution, even when they believed they were alone. This turned out to be a smart move, as mere seconds after Murtagh had left, his place was taken by two bald heads that looked as if they would roll so nicely on the smooth dirt floor.

"What is this about?" the Twins demanded.

"They are summoning me tomorrow," Harry said simply, commanding himself to smile slightly. "Now, what have you fine gentlemen got for me today?"


	23. Chapter 23

The next day, Harry prepared a rather innovative dish of fish chips for the magicians' lunch by magically maneuvering five knifes held in position so that their blades were parallel and evenly spaced, then passing the sliced meat in a steady stream over his black fire. This turned out to be faster than he expected once he'd gotten used to controlling so many knives at once, allowing him to arrive at Ajihad's office with plenty of time to spare. There, he was greeted by the leader of the Varden, as well as Eragon, Brom, and 'Siloam'. The Council would meet them at their destination, said Ajihad. Understandably, Saphira would be meeting them at their destination as well, as she'd barely fit through Ajihad's door the last time.

Once again, Ajihad made good use of time as he led them through the stone corridors of Tronjheim and finally out into the open fields. He inquired after how they were settling in, to which everyone replied something along the lines of "well enough". Brom expressed appreciation for what he'd observed on the training fields, and what he'd seen of the interaction between the humans and the dwarves. This confused Eragon, who commented that the two races merely nod curtly at each other when they passed on the roads, until Brom explained that it was already better than what used to be.

Ajihad asked Harry what he thought of Du Vrangr Gata. Harry was able to summarize his opinion in two words: wasted talent, but instead went with the less offensive observation that perhaps they could benefit from a greater sense of purpose.

The meeting place, it seemed, was to be a low, rocky hill near the edge of the ancient volcanic lava chamber that was Farthen Dur, just left of several glistening icicles. Harry could already see several people and horses waiting there, and he was reasonably certain their eyes were on his own company as well. This rather inconvenient portion of land was not suitable for growing anything and so was rarely used, explained Ajihad. Normally the council met within the mountain, but they were making an exception this time for Saphira's benefit.

Harry thought a second purpose may have been to assure the Council that she was in fact real, but kept this to himself.

Eragon asked Saphira to take off at this point.

_'Are you sure everything will be alright?'_ she asked Harry once she was close enough, and he noticed that she was carefully shielding this conversation from everyone else, _'With the Twins out to get you and all. Your current plan is to continue to play dumb and hope that Galbatorix's suspicion passes, right? If they attend this meeting, they'll report back to Galbatorix the moment you say anything intelligent.'_

_'That would be unfortunate,'_ Harry agreed, eyeing the small cluster of people on the hill. _'I doubt that they would be allowed to show up at the Council meetings, however. Everyone knows they work for everyone. The last thing the Council wants is for them to be able to compare "masters" and start picking and choosing to their advantage. By logic, they wouldn't give them more information than they need to. Besides, if they're not up there yet then they're probably not coming.'_

_'I must say, I'm worried for you. What if the Oath Breaker finds out?'_

But he was spared from responding when they began to climb the small hill and Eragon apparently started to comment on the heavy perfume of one of the people they were meeting.

There were, in fact, five people waiting for them on the small hill - three men and two women. They gave Eragon small bows, correctly presuming that he was the rider, and bowed again before Saphira when she landed. Then they stood proudly as Ajihad introduced them.

"This is Jormundur, my second-in-command and military advisor. Elessari, representative of the farmers. Falberg, representative of the craftspeople. Umerth, representative of the hunters and game keepers. And finally Sabrae, representative of the women and children."

Each of them had a calculating look in their eyes, one that Harry was becoming more and more accustomed to.

Once the council had been introduced, Ajihad introduced Eragon and Saphira before naming the rider's company: "And this is Siloam, a young but seasoned warrior and the newest commander among our ranks. And Harry, a spellcaster," here he paused, before adding, "and someone who can offer some insight on how the enemy thinks."

Harry inclined his head, accepting this statement. Unsurprisingly, the gaze of the five pairs of watchful eyes immediately sharpened.

"And I'm Brom," Brom introduced himself, "founder of the Varden. Remember me?"

Jormundur did, and inclined his head respectfully. Falberg obviously did as well, judging by his poorly disguised frown. Sabrae, however, seemed to have gotten a nasty little shock.

"Let us discuss business, then," Said Ajihad. "If I recall correctly, you've all seen these translations. As you can see, the threat is serious enough to warrant the preparations for evacuation." He showed them again the intercepted Urgal letters, which Umerth examined over and over until he was finally convinced of the accuracy of the interpretation. This was followed by a discussion of when to evacuate and how far to flee. Then, a rough calculation of how much crops and supplies to bring, during which it was decided that Elessari would have the people gather enough food to last a trip to Surda plus four days excess. Then, a round of bickering over the number of warriors to accompany the vulnerable groups. Sabrae and Falberg argued for an entourage of five hundred able-bodied soldiers, which Ajihad said would be difficult to spare. They eventually settled on five groups of twenty soldiers, enough to cover the stream of evacuees should they encounter small bands of enemies.

"Then there is the matter of what to do with the enemies themselves," said Ajihad.

"Have we not already decided what our heightened defence would be?" asked Jormundur.

"We have. Increase frequency of the watches, and mobilize two more groups of guards in addition to the current one. Meanwhile, warn the fighters and check the inventories of the armoury to ensure that we are prepared for battle. We will warn Du Vrangr Gata as well, and request that they start stockpiling the items necessary for healing if possible. King Hrothgar's plan mirrors ours. However, we have not yet considered what to do when Galbatorix's army arrives. We are expecting thousands of Urgals and possibly the Shade Durza as well, but perhaps some organization of our efforts can tilt the odds a little more in our favour. If we can think of nothing, we will have to consider him as just another especially deadly commander and use our old strategies."

"What? Charge into battle against a Shade?" Umerth exclaimed, "Ajihad you can't be serious! A Shade can probably kill ten of our people with one stroke of his sword! If he uses magic, we'll all be dead in minutes!"

"What do you propose that we do, Umerth?" Asked Jormundur. He was on the verge of following up with a "you know there's no other choice in fact why did you even insist on coming to this meeting when you know the topic of discussion hardly concerns you", Harry noticed, but seemed to have thought better of it.

"First of all," Harry spoke up, "Durza is not merely going to possibly be here. He's going to be here for certain. I say this because Galbatorix will want to bring Eragon and Saphira back to Uru'baen alive, and an army of Urgals will not be trusted with this.

"That said, causing damage to the Varden army will not rank very high on the Shade's objective list, because that's the Urgals' job. Durza's primary task would be to locate and capture Eragon. His secondary goal would be to retrieve the elf." Durza's third goal would be, most likely, to find out whether there really was a unexpectedly dangerous foe in Tronjheim, or possibly an invisible one.

Well. He would have to cross that bridge when he gets to it.

"So…"

"I think whoever moves out of Durza's way when they see him generally won't have to fight him at all. With luck he might even take out a few Urgals for us. He doesn't give a damn about them anyways."

"Small relief there," grumbled Umerth, who had to ensure that he did not lose face.

"If Harry's belief is correct," Ajihad cut in smoothly, "then all the more benefits to devising a strategy. Is there a way to keep Durza preoccupied while minimizing the damage he wrecks on our forces?"

"If he's going to be looking for me anyways," suggested Eragon, "then maybe I should stand somewhere easy to find."

"Wait - " Brom hastened to stop him from making rushed statements, but Sabrae all but pounced on it.

"Of course! The Rider will save us from the Shade!"

"But of course," nodded Umerth, "Who else has the power or the strength?"

Eragon looked a little nervous now upon seeing Brom's worried expression, but now that Eragon had spoken the former Rider could do little more than sit back and wait for the meeting to finish. Once the rest of the council departed and they were left alone with Ajihad, however, the verbal onslaught that he seemed to have been building up was unleashed.

"Eragon! Do you realize that you just volunteered to confront Durza by yourself?" Brom was clearly working very hard not to yell, "Are you so confident in your abilities that you want to take on a Shade? Did you forget how close you came to dying the last time?"

"But I didn't say 'on my own', and I was just giving an idea -"

"Yes, but they're going to expect it anyways - who cares that you haven't had time to train! Don't say things like that unless you're sure! What have I taught you in all this time? It's probably too late to take it back anyways!"

"We can still work something out if you don't feel ready, Eragon," Ajihad offered. "Certain people might ask some uncomfortable questions, but it will not be impossible."

Harry shook his head. "Eragon's point still stands though. If Durza is coming for you, then no amount of army will be able to hide you."

"Well, there's the option of having you lead him around in circles while the rest of us try to ambush him," suggested Murtagh, "but I don't think that'll work out very well. The collateral damage that would cause…"

"I think the best we can do is what Eragon proposed earlier - have the fight with Durza happen away from our soldiers, as well as Urgals that might stab you in the back," Harry muttered, "Now we just have to decide how best for us to help you. "

"That's true, unfortunately," Brom rubbed his forehead tiredly, "But you're not going on your own. I'll be out there with you."

"Of course. And I think… it would be best if I come with you as well. Let the rest of Du Vrangr Gata do what they usually do, and convince Arya and Angela to roam around and take care of any especially powerful Urgal magicians - and probably have Arya and Angela move together so that _no one_ can stab her in the back. But the three of us will have to coordinate... Brom, can I talk to you later?" Harry had conceived a vague idea at this point, but he wanted to check its feasibility before he proposed it.

Ajihad nodded understandingly. It was almost as if he'd expected this. "I think we can afford to send two people away from the battle with the Urgals to help Rider Eragon," he smiled.

"Ah, and Ajihad?" Harry remembered, "There's something that puzzles me. I notice that the Council represents the various groups within the Varden well, and yet there is no representative of the magicians."

"That is because Du Vrangr Gata is not officially a subunit within the Varden," Ajihad explained.

"Yet judging by their current alignment, they may as well be. Do you think they would be amenable to becoming a unified force with the Varden if one of their representatives is involved in the Varden's decision making?" For Ajihad, the absorption of Du Vrangr Gata into the Varden would centralize control, and allow him to coordinate the magicians with the warriors more easily in future battles. Then, since the Council would never consent to admitting the Twins, this move would also strip away power from Du Vrangr Gata's superintendents and redistribute it to a different representative.

"Perhaps, if the idea is proposed by the right person in the right way. There will be ... resistance from both sides, as you understand. Are you nominating a candidate?"

"I believe one person would be suitable for this role. I would need to speak with her to find out whether she is open to it, however."

"And in the meantime I will consider it," said Ajihad thoughtfully. "This will most likely have to wait until we finish dealing with the Urgal threat."

"Of course," Nodded Harry. They had walked together to the base of the mountain city. Ajihad bid them good day, and stopped just before they parted ways.

"Ah, and Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Your skills in military planning and negotiations is commendable. You must have been taught by great teachers after you escaped from a life of slavery."

And there it was. The subtle question testing Ajihad's theory, hidden in the seemingly offhanded compliment to Brom and Eragon.

Harry replied in kind by opening his hands in what seemed like a gesture of acceptance and showing Ajihad the lack of a gedwey ignasia on his palms, then bidding the leader of the Varden good day.

Brom caught on just about when the two of them were half way to the training field, and shot Harry a look. _'So Ajihad thinks that -'_

_'That I like you am a former Rider but do not want this known? Most likely.' _Harry could see why Ajihad would arrive at that conclusion. He would've asked himself why Harry was more than he seemed given the history he'd presented to the Twins, then decide that Harry must've managed to hide the segment of memory containing his magical training. The most probable explanation from Ajihad's perspective, then, was that Harry was indeed rescued by a Rider and taught - except not by Brom and Eragon, but the Riders of the old order.

_'And you've just confirmed his guess when you deliberately showed him your palms, because he knows that I don't have a visible mark either!' _Brom realized.

_'That is probable, yes,' _

Brom chuckled, scratching his beard. _'And I suppose I'm the one who gave him the idea in the first place, by subconsciously treating you like a contemporary... So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about? I presume you have an idea for dealing with the Shade, but you unlike Eragon knew better than to just announce it to the world?'_

_'Yes, and it involves you and I working together. Tell me if this is feasible ...' _

* * *

**A.N.: I have no idea what the people on the Council actually represent, or if they do anything useful. I had to make up something random.**


	24. Chapter 24

"Finally decided to visit me again, Rider Eragon?"

Eragon blinked at the strange and unnaturally cheery witch, currently perched comfortably on the low plush footstool in front of a large pot of indescript bubbling substance. "Er, yes. You see, we're expecting a massive Urgal invasion sometime in the near future. Arya - that is, the elf who arrived with us – will be moving around the battlefield to take out the powerful Urgal magicians, or just any especially dangerous Urgals in general. But we're afraid that a traitor within the Varden will ambush her when she's preoccupied. Could you – could you go with her so that you can watch each other's backs?"

"Arya," Angela tapped her chin, rolling that name over her tongue. "Arya… The carrier of the dragon egg, right? I know of her, and I think she's heard something of me as well. Yes, I am agreeable to your suggestion. It sounds like Arya's going to be right where the action is, and I don't mind working with her. Solembum, what about you? Are you coming along?"

'_Yes,' _thought the werecat at Angela as well as Eragon, who breathed a sigh of relief. The task he'd been assigned, _convince Angela, _went very smoothly. _And now Arya will be just a little safer…_

"But I think you have the most exciting job. I've been hearing that the Shade Durza will be here as well, and that you're going to fight him off! I do so want to watch that. He practices the most unholy of magic, and I just want to dig his heart out with a dull hairpin and feed it to a pig!"

Eragon was surprised that he managed not to react at all to her extreme excitement at the prospect of duelling a Shade or her sudden vehemence. Perhaps the fact that _he_ was the one who'd have to confront Durza had something to do with it. "I don't understand. Brom told me that Shades were sorcerers who used spirits to accomplish their will, but why does that make them so evil?"

"It doesn't. Ordinary sorcerers are just that – ordinary, and neither better nor worse than the rest of us. They use their magical strength to control the spirits. Shades, however, relinquish that control in their search for greater power and allow their bodies to be controlled by the spirits they summon. It usually happen by accident, when a sorcerer summons more spirits than he can handle."

"And spirits are …"

"Souls that have passed on."

"So why does that make a Shade evil?"

"Well technically Shades are not evil by definition if one wants to argue it that way," Angela waved her hand airily, "but what incentive do spirits have to offer us their power? They no longer have a stake in the world of the living, and they really don't give a damn for us actually - they're fine just floating around in the void for eternity. But the evillest, vilest of spirits… they suffer. And that's why it's the evillest, vilest of spirits that possess people and become Shades. Good Shades are so impossible that never has one appeared in the entire history of Alagaesia, and any chance of you meeting one in your infinitely long life is negligible. And once they're here, they never leave! As you know, once a Shade is created it's incredibly hard to kill."

"I know," Eragon gulped. "We're not aiming to kill Durza permanently this time though, just make sure that he's incapacitated long enough for the Urgal invasion to fail. Brom said it would probably be safest if I finish my training first."

"That's wise," Angela nodded. "Only two people, Laetri the Elf and Irnstad the Rider, ever survived that feat, and we still need you."

Eragon didn't know how to respond to that, so he ended up awkwardly scratching the back of his ear. "Thank you for agreeing to help us fight the Urgals."

"And thank you for coming to visit me. Good luck, Rider Eragon."

* * *

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," Arya greeted, touching two fingers to her lips.

"Atra du evarinya ono varda," Brom replied, regarding the elf princess seated on the bed of straws. "How are you healing?"

"Better than I had hoped, thanks to whatever you and Rider Eragon did for me. I feel nearly myself again," Arya considered. "It's good to see you again, Brom. I am glad the egg made it to its destination."

"Aren't we all?" Brom smiled. "And we all are glad to hear that you are healing well. I think Eragon most of all."

Arya looked down abashedly at this. "Ah, you must forgive me for asking you to take the long route here rather than to Du Weldenvarden. I was frightened, and the young Rider did not mention you, and…"

Brom indicated that he understood. They both knew that Ellesmera was closer to Gi'lead than Tronjheim. In an act of what one could call noble self-sacrifice from her perspective, Arya had chosen to mislead Eragon into taking her here – protecting the location of her homeland at no small risk to herself.

"We are expecting an imminent Urgal invasion, whose goal would be to capture Tronjheim and destroy the Varden. Arya, do you think you would be fit to fight?"

"Of course," the elf drew herself up, "it is my duty and my wyrd. The debt must be paid. I suspect the Shade will accompany the army as well. They would know that we've come here."

"We have expected that," Brom agreed. "We believe that capturing Eragon would be his priority, followed by capturing you. We believe damage can be minimized if Eragon confronts Durza outside the Farthen Dur valley."

"Then I will go with him?"

Brom shook his head. "We'd like you to stay within the valley to counter any particularly powerful Urgal magicians or warriors, with Angela."

"But Brom, you know that I am stronger with magic than any here, including the young Rider! Who can defeat Durza but me? And who else has the right?"

"Eragon will not be out there alone. He will be aided by myself and another magician. Our first reason for asking you to stay within the valley," Brom countered calmly, "is to keep you and Eragon separate. If one of you are captured, there's a good chance that they will wait a little to capture the other – buying us some time to stage a rescue. The second is that if our most powerful spellcasters are all preoccupied then Tronjheim will surely fall to the Urgals. The warriors need protection as well, and I fear Du Vrangr Gata would not be strong enough." A third and no less important reason, Brom suspected, was that Harry-Shruikan didn't trust Arya enough to allow her near him, given what he had in mind.

Brom sighed. The situation was such a headache.

"Well, I suppose I must trust that the young Rider will be safe with you," Arya agreed reluctantly. "Who is the other magician you speak of?"

"His name is Harry, and he is the one who prepared the potions that healed you."

Arya tilted her head. "I do not know of such a person. Please give him my thanks, then."

Brom nodded and said he would.

"This Harry would be … strong in the magics, then? To fight alongside you?"

"He is strong enough," Brom replied simply. "Rest well, Arya Drottningu."

* * *

"The Varden expects Durza to lead the attack, my King. Their plan is to station the Rider near the opening of the North facing tunnel into Farthen Dur, to keep Durza from causing damage to the troops within."

"Very well. Report this to Durza when he contacts you. It will be soon." Galbatorix ordered, leaning back in his throne. So they'd expected that he knew where they were, and had correctly guessed that he would send Durza to retrieve the young Rider. And they'd decided not to waste their time or his by attempting to flee. Good.

Galbatorix smirked sharply. _All the easier for Durza to find him._

* * *

"That's more healing supplies than I've ever seen in one place."

"A battle approaches, Elva," Harry told her, tidying the storage room with a wave. "And not just any battle, but a full-on invasion of this mountain. They're expecting more wounded than ever before. These green bottles here," he showed her a crate of flasks near his left foot, "Are Angela's newest batch of bone menders. I've been told that they're very effective. And these brown bottles are for burns. There's only one box of these because they're not expecting fire attacks this time, but better prepared than sorry."

Elva nodded, eyes wide, and bit her lower lip.

Harry regarded her gently. "This will be your first battle, yes?"

The girl nodded again. "In the past, when Du Vrangr Gata went with the Varden to fight, they would leave me back here. But this time Trianna said the Urgals would be attacking the base, so they needed all the help they can get. And she asked me if there's anything I can do that might be useful in any way, and I told her I can shield now, and she said she'd assign me a group of warriors on the south side of Tronjheim to protect like the other magicians… It's not that I don't want to do this. I want to be fighting alongside everyone else. It's just… they're counting on me to protect people now! If I fail the soldiers will die!"

Harry put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. It wasn't too difficult to make Elva's gaze meet his, given his own rather short stature. "Have faith in your shield, Elva. And other people might tell you otherwise, but you _are_ gifted in magic. I was really surprised by how little time it took for you to learn as much as you did, and I don't think most magicians can do that. And I would wager that your shielding is as strong as – well, maybe not Trianna's yet, but at least as strong as many of the other magicians. In fact, I dare say it's not unlikely that shielding will become your specialty in the future."

She smiled a little. "Really?"

"Yes. Have faith in yourself and what you can do, Elva."

"Thank you, Harry!" The smile widened. "Oh, and Harry, will I see you out there?"

"My station is outside Farthen Dur Valley."

"Oh. Well stay safe, then."

"And same to you, Elva."

* * *

At dusk, Harry and Brom walked away from the rows of pike-lined trenches, the cauldrons of pitch, and the rubbles of collapsed tunnels. They followed Eragon and Saphira out through the stone tunnel they'd originally entered through. Once they stepped into the orange sunlight on the other side, Harry disillusioned himself and Brom, then summoned rubble to seal the tunnel. Should they need to clear the passage to re-enter the volcanic cavity, the structure of the original tunnel would be unharmed.

Saphira lay down by the side of the lake to wait, with Eragon leaning against her side. Harry and Brom stood a little further back, in the shadow of the mountain. "The last time we tried this we were fairly successful," Brom muttered, "I hope this time is the same."

"We'll see," Harry replied, extending a tendril of thought toward Brom and receiving one in return. "Number of flasks of burn salve in Du Vrangr Gata's storage room?"

He felt Brom's thoughts search the mental space he'd allocated for the answer. "Two dozen. Age of oldest warrior in Murtagh's unit?"

"Forty seven," Likewise, Harry read the answer from Brom's mind. "Number of steps in highest flight of stairs to the Dragonhold in Uru'baen?"

"Thirteen. Number of arrows made yesterday?"

"Ten thousand. How long for bone mending potion to take effect?"

They repeated this exercise, with the pause between questions and answers becoming shorter and shorter, until eventually the two wisps of thoughts between them solidified into a temporary channel joining two mental workspaces. By the time Brom asked the last question, Harry can hear the answer without having to cross into Brom's mind at all.

"And the point of this –"

"- is to create a mental link so strong that –"

" – power can be transferred from me to you through our connection –"

" – as such is the workings of the bond between a Rider and a dragon – "

"- as well as the explanation for the unusually high combined strength of the bald Twins."

Harry smiled, and he knew that Brom was pleased with the results as well. _'I must say,' _thought Brom, _'this is an unusual idea. But I can see why it's the best way to make the most of our strengths.'_

Harry agreed. _'Since it's technically going to be four-against-one, it's better to use magic and long range attacks than to fight in close combat and risk injuring each other. And because we don't have to kill Durza, we can afford to fight a magical duel without breaking into his head first.'_

_'__And on that scale Durza will be a fixed target, while we will be mobile – which is another reason why we chose this fairly open area. He will know where to find us?'_

_'__I believe the Twins will make sure of it.'_

Brom's amusement echoed across their connection. _'Well let's see just how good our luck is.'_

The sun had nearly set, leaving just a dim orange glow around the silhouette of the tall mountain behind them. That was when Harry spotted a small disturbance on the now velvet-blue horizon, just above Eragon's ear. It took him a moment to figure out what it was: dust, from the footfall of soldiers.

"They've arrived."


	25. Chapter 25

**A.N.: This is a double update.**

* * *

They've arrived.

Harsh Urgal shouts shattered the air as dark shapes boiled upward in the tunnel's opening. At a command, the cauldrons of pitch were tilted on their sides, pouring the scalding liquid into the tunnel's hungry throat. A torch was thrown onto the bubbling pitch, and an orange pillar of greasy flames roared up in the opening, engulfing the Urgals in an inferno.

It was a terrible way to die, and Arya would not wish it upon anyone, but sadly they had no choice.

There were simply too many of them, too many to be picked off by the archers. Arya strung her own bow and added her arrows to the deadly swarm, but the Urgals continued to stream to the surface at a ferocious rate. The pickets will fall, she knew, and soon the pikemen.

"Arya Drottningu."

"Angela,"

The difference in the two women's demeanor must've seemed startling for the soldiers nearby. While one was unarmored and completely expressionless, the other was wearing outlandishly flanged armors and a smirk devoid of any seriousness. But the greater shock would come later, when the two ladies vaulted into a cluster of ten Urgals using Angela's staff and promptly dispatched all of them.

Nearby, the dagger-wielding young shaggy-haired boy grinned, showing rows of sharp teeth.

* * *

"They've arrived," Elva heard someone call as she wove her way around tensed warriors with readied weapons to get to the people she was supposed to be helping.

"- remember, best not to let ourselves be stranded among the enemies for an extended amount of time. We go in together." Up ahead, the young commander was using the last minutes of calm to remind the group of their strategy. Elva nervously stepped up to him and waited for him to finish.

"Commander Siloam?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Um, Du Vrangr Gata sent me to shield some of the people in your group."

The men immediately began a quiet conference to choose the lucky few who would be protected, Elva saw. Trianna had told her that in past battles, the magician generally selected up to six soldiers – either the most important or most needy – to protect. Trianna had told her to stick with four or five this time to be safe. If she falls unconscious or her magic becomes drained, all her shields would fail simultaneously. So up to six people out of the twenty would be safe, while the others would have to weather the battle on their own…

The men were all nominating each other, Elva noticed. She really didn't want to choose either. She didn't want any of them to die.

Then she suddenly remembered. "Um, sir… I think I can protect more than six people if I shield from one kind of weapon specifically. If that helps, that is…"

One of the older warriors raised an eyebrow. "A selective shield? I've never heard the Du Vrangr Gata use anything like it before."

"It works!" Elva hastily explained, "Harry taught it to me! He's the magician who arrived with the Rider!" They didn't believe her! But of course, they hadn't experienced the difference like she did. Why would they?

But then Commander Siloam smiled. "I say we trust that she knows what she's talking about. What's your name, magician?"

"E -Elva."

"Well, Elva, do you think you can shield all of us from the arrows only?"

Elva considered. The arrows were fast, but they were light and small. "Yes, I think so sir."

"Excellent. We can take care of the swords ourselves," he swung his sword experimentally, "If you need to reduce the shield to something smaller and more defendable, we completely understand. Just give us a warning when you do it. And you'd better stand in the middle of our formation. We're going to create an island of relative safety, you see, so that whoever gets exhausted can rest for a few seconds."

Elva nodded just as the first scream at the tunnel opening started. And just as she was shielding them, the soldiers shifted to form a protective oval around her. At the tunnel-facing end of the oval, Commander Siloam gently nudged the men beside him apart to give himself more space.

"Alright! Let's go kill some Urgals!"

* * *

_So they've arrived._

Eragon climbed onto Saphira's saddle, taking off.

Behind them, Brom and Shruikan took to the air as well.

_'__Ah yes, I can see them now,' _Shruikan felt Brom think, _'That's a hell lot of Urgals.'_

Shruikan eyed the black stream of Urgal soldiers. This was arguably one of the larger armies he'd witnessed, which was really saying something. About one league away, the Urgals started to veer right presumably toward the open tunnel in the relative vicinity. A lone figure on horseback emerged from the black stream and continued to advance toward them.

Durza.

The Shade carried his long, pale blade and a black roundshield bearing a red ensign. He was garbed in a full suit of black armour this time, complete with a richly decorated helmet and a snakeskin cape. _'And of course, if I can make out the ensign on his shield then we can safely presume he'd spotted Eragon as well.'_

On their own side, Eragon adjusted the bow on his back and readied his sword. The opening move they'd decided upon was, "Let Durza get within just about as far as you can comfortably throw your spells, then shoot a fireball to stop him." This was not meant to do any damage – merely a declaration of intent.

For Eragon, this was around a hundred metres. Durza blocked the small blue fireball easily and stopped his horse. "So, my young Rider, we meet again!" he called, his cold voice carrying across the valley. "You were foolish enough to escape me in Gi'lead. It will only make things worse for you in the end."

Not to be outdone, Eragon jeered back, "How did you like dying?"

Durza growled. "I don't know how you – or your friend, if he really exists – got lucky that time, but I will be repaid in blood for that. Brisingr!" A giant tongue of red fire was unleashed from the blade Durza's long sword at Saphira, who swerved out of the way just in time.

Meanwhile, Shruikan and Brom had circled to Durza's right side. _'We need to know how efficient the power transfer is on a practical scale,' _Shruikan thought. _'Try to cast something that'll use up all this power. This should be one of our stronger spells tonight.' _And he sent Brom a proposed trajectory, then opened up one of his reservoirs of magic.

With a silent beat of his wings, Shruikan continued to bank right without losing speed. He could feel the silver stream of power shoot from within him and route through their connection to Brom. It was satisfying, even as he felt himself use up energy. After months of training himself to release controlled amount of magic, it felt strangely good to let loose so much power. That and to get another chance to make the one who taught Galbatorix his heinous craft suffer.

"Jierda," Brom cast at the back of Durza's head just as they were nearly directly behind him. Caught by surprise, Durza erected a shield in the nick of time. Brom's orb of energy collided with it mere inches from Durza's face, causing both the spell and the shield to distort and ripple at the impact. By the time Durza blinked away the bright light and returned fire in that direction, Shruikan was already well away. Durza's massive fireball sailed harmlessly into the distance until it dissipated.

Shruikan felt a small flash of amusement from Brom as Durza spun around with very visible surprise. They knew that from Durza's perspective it was still impossible to determine whether he actually had an invisible opponent or not. They'd decided to stick to the basic spells after all, and Brom's spells were the same blue as Eragon's. This was another potential benefit of their strategy. If they were lucky, they could continue to keep Durza, and by extension Galbatorix, confused.

_'How did we do? That was much more magic than I've used in a very long time.'_

_'__That was about a third of what I sent you.' _Shruikan thought back, _'But it's about the best we can hope for in terms of efficiency without a real bond I suppose. I suspect it would be worse if I try to give you more.' _

_'__Oh.' _The happiness he felt from Brom waned significantly. '_But even by a normal Rider's standard it would've still been considered moderately strong, so we still did quite well. How long do you think you can keep that up though?'_

_'__Long enough if we cast wisely I think,' _Below them, Saphira and Eragon had just dodged a ominous-looking red orb sent their way by the Shade, but flew right into a wall of compressed air. Durza capitalized on their dizziness by shooting another column of fire at them, but halted his attack on Eragon's hasty defences upon feeling heat through his own wards: Just above Durza's red column, Shruikan had unleashed a parallel stream of black fire from his maw in return.

_'__That's about the edge of my breath range,' _he thought to Brom as they did a sharp turn upward to regain altitude.

_'__I know. I remember from when I was on the other end.'_

Meanwhile, Eragon had recovered enough to shoot another orb of energy at Durza, who was not able to move his horse sideways fast enough to dodge. For a moment Eragon looked triumphant, but his smile quickly dropped when he realized that his spell had simply shimmered against the Shade's armor, doing no significant damage at all.

Shruikan dived, bringing himself and Brom close enough to the ground for Brom to propel a small boulder by magic into the horse's belly, followed by a small wall of compressed air to trip the animal. The horse was obviously under Durza's mental command, but it still managed to buck and destabilize the Shade somewhat. While Shruikan silently pulled out of the dive and circled left, Eragon took advantage of Durza's distraction and shot an arrow at the Shade's head – and would've succeeded if it had not been batted away by magic.

This attack caused Durza to decide that he'd had enough of his horse. Shruikan watched the Shade leap from its saddle, then chop off its head for good measures. _'A good choice, from his perspective. He's probably faster on foot anyways.'_

Skimming fairly close to the ground this time, Shruikan spat another fire attack at Durza as he circled knowing that any flickering of his disillusionment would be very difficult to detect against the background of trees behind him. This, he was pleased to see, toasted Durza's wards somewhat before the Shade spun around and raised a hand.

Then Shruikan felt a hurricane whip past the tip of his tail as he began his ascend, and turned his head to see that a giant hole had been blasted cleanly through the crowns of the trees.

_'Close call?' _Asked Brom.

_'Indeed.'_

On his other side, Durza seemed to be regarding the damage with narrowed eyes before turning his attention back to Eragon and Saphira.

Eragon hurled four more fireballs at Durza, all of which rippled against Durza's armor with the Shade's widening smirk being the only visible result. Saphira, meanwhile, was sporting many bloody wounds from the spells Durza returned in kind. _'He's probably began an attack on Eragon's mind long before now,' _thought Brom, _'Saphira is protecting Eragon, and the distance makes it more difficult for him… But we'd better break Durza's wards soon or it won't be good.'_

_'__Here's an idea,' _Shruikan banked left again to circle behind the bright blue dragon-Rider duo. Once he was near enough, he shut his wings and sailed forward by momentum only in order to get as close to Eragon as possible. Eragon had just launched another blue fireball. With aid of a particularly large influx of power from Shruikan, Brom launched a similar fireball from just under Eragon's outstretched arm.

The attack left Shruikan panting, but he had a feeling it would be worth it. Once cleared of Eragon and Saphira, he opened his wings again to glide and watch the proceedings.

The first fireball dissipated against Durza's wards like the previous ones, but the second melted through both his wards and his armor. Durza's eyes bugged out as the steel plates on his chest turned into a glowing hot mess. Behind them, Eragon whooped with joy – a feeling that resonated in Brom as well. _'That's why we decided not to wear armors! Ha ha!'_

Indeed, it was quite a gruesome sight. Had Durza been a regular human – or even an elf or a Rider, he would've been knocked unconscious for days just by the pain.

But Durza was a Shade.

Blasting away the melted metal from his body, Durza screamed in rage at being deceived, then raised his sword at Eragon and Saphira seemingly without a care for the bare red muscles and embedded bits of steel in his torso.

Shruikan turned then, alarmed by the turn of events but unsure of what Durza planned to do. Only when he noticed Eragon's stiff posture did he realized that Durza had cast a binding spell, and that both Eragon and Saphira were now frozen in place.

Durza sneered, and shrieked a spell at the top of his lungs.

And in that second, Shruikan and Brom came to a unanimous decision.

Dipping quickly, Shruikan dropped down between Durza and Saphira while pushing at Brom the largest burst of magic he'd ever unleashed in his whole life. _'DEFLECT DOWN!'_

It was probably the only way they could stop Durza's next attack: casting at point blank and giving it all they've got. It also helped that he and Brom were nearly thinking as one this time, making this their most efficient power transfer yet. The red flash flew from Durza's sword, flattening and veering down upon reaching Brom's spell…

… but still it wasn't enough.

...

A blinding pain erupted at his stomach, across his underbelly. It careened and reverberated around his mind - and for a fraction of a second it was just about the only thing that registered. It was only by retreating into his innermost mental wall that he was finally able to focus on what he should do next.

_'__Shruikan! How badly are you hurt? Can you still hear me?' _He vaguely heard Brom shout across their connection, but he had preciously few seconds to work. Not daring to survey the damage, he concentrated on channelling his momentum upward in a hurried turn to pass Saphira overhead. Then he managed to send a single coherent thought to Brom before the connection winked out: _'Jump.'_

The old Rider fortunately took his cue in time to leap. Good for him.

Allowing himself to continue sailing forward in some direction - it mattered little at this point, Shruikan quickly did a barrel roll onto his back to keep his guts from potentially falling out, then transformed and stripped the disillusionment on the former Rider. It didn't take a genius to realize that he wasn't going to make it to the ground - he could hardly tell which way was up, and his vision was already blurring at an alarming pace...

...

The last spell Harry managed to cast, before every nerve in his body was set on fire, was a silencing charm to muffle his own screams.


	26. Chapter 26

**A.N.: This is a double update to avoid nasty cliff hanger. Then I'm probably going to disappear for a while until I work out the next part of the story lol...**

* * *

When Eragon found himself unable to move, he realized that their success was too good to last – and now they were going to pay.

_'__How dare you trick me, Rider!' _Durza was screaming at him in his mind, _'I don't care what Galbatorix wants or does not want! You are DONE FOR!' _

The red flash of light shot toward him and Saphira, and he had to admit that Durza was right. He couldn't raise his arm to cast, Saphira couldn't dodge, and they were defenseless. He thought Brom taught him a counter for the binding, but in the moment he couldn't remember the Word. He was sure he didn't have enough energy left to cast it anyways.

They were truly done for.

But then the red light veered down a little, then a little more, then finally flashed and disappeared! And did Durza just fall to his knees? In his surprise, Eragon almost didn't realize that he'd been released, or that the assault on his mind had stopped.

Two drops of warm liquid fell on Eragon's head. It had the consistency of blood.

Then, suddenly he felt something land on Saphira's back behind him! Frantic, he swung Zar'roc around blindly but was stopped by a hand. "It's me, Brom," the person behind him breathed heavily.

"Brom! What –"

"Kill Durza and kill him dead!" Brom urged, "The bastard cast an absolute attack and drained himself. He doesn't have enough power left to retaliate now!"

"Oh!" Eragon quickly grabbed an arrow.

But in the time it took for Eragon to react, aim and fire, and in the time it took for the arrow to reach the Shade's heart, Durza had found just enough strength to impale his own throat on his sword.

"Damn it!" Brom swore.

Eragon slowly hitched his bow back onto his shoulder and sagged in his saddle, allowing his lead-laden arms to hang limply by his side. He too was crestfallen that he didn't manage to shoot the Shade for good when they had the perfect opportunity, but at the same time he was immensely relieved that his own head was still attached to his shoulders. Between the Ra'zacs invading his home, fighting the Urgals at Teirm, fending off Durza at Gi'lead, and all the other times he brushed Death by a hair, this one had filled him with the heaviest dread. He didn't know whether it was because he actually got to watch the red light shoot toward him, or from Durza's enraged yell, or from the knowledge that Saphira would be killed with him this time. But they were safe now, thank the Gods... "Brom, what happened? Why are you here? And what by the Gods did you do to stop that spell! That was incredible! I thought we were going to die! And what do you mean when you said Durza cast an absolute attack?"

Brom rubbed his forehead tiredly. "An absolute attack is a spell that won't stop until it's absorbed by something. If it encounters any shields or deflections it'll simply draw more power from the caster whether the caster wants to use up more energy or not. Durza probably underestimated us again. It was stupid of him to cast that spell, really. If only we had just a little more power we could've drained him dry…"

"But then… how did you manage to block it?"

"We couldn't – weren't strong enough. Shruikan… took the hit for you. He deliberately positioned himself in front of you to cover you."

_'__What?' _yelled Saphira through their link.

"Is he… is he alright?" Eragon asked, choosing the more optimistic question even though he already knew the answer. If Brom had to jump...

Brom shook his head. "It was very painful, Eragon. Even I felt it, and our connection was not even a real Rider-dragon bond. I'm… I'm not sure what happened to him afterward. I wouldn't be surprised if the curse blasted open his abdomen entirely. That's why he made me jump I think, so that I wouldn't go down with him."

Eragon didn't miss what was written in Brom's eyes. Was this what Angela saw in his fortune? Death in battle, not in defeat but by choice?

_'__He may still be alive. How do we find him?' _asked Saphira to both Eragon and Brom, _'I'm not leaving my mentor here to bleed to death.'_

"Searching the area for his consciousness with your mind would be the best bet, or scrying," said Brom, "He wouldn't have gone far. If you can't find him that way and you don't see him… then there's nothing you can do I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

But scrying turned up nothing. And search they did – Saphira most carefully of all. Eragon could feel her straining her mental probe to reach further and further, then her growing panic when it continued to touch nothing. Twice he wanted to ask her to stop before she exhausts herself, but had a feeling he wouldn't be listened to.

_'__He lives. He's thought of things we couldn't imagine before. He must survive!'_

In the end, however, even she had to concede – and only after Eragon promised that they would come back to search again after he finish healing her and after all the invaders have been driven off. Yet Eragon also realized sadly that they had already covered the entire clearing and the surrounding forests. But any further, and they would've reached the Urgal army. If Shruikan had somehow ended up out there, well… it would've been a lost cause anyways…

Shruikan was gone. A creeping feeling of loss welled up within Eragon then. He tried to keep this to himself as much as possible, since Saphira was still so steadfast convinced that their friend might still be alive that he didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

The strangeness of the matter was, Eragon reflected, just mere months ago if he'd been told that the dragon who'd destroyed the Riders order and the largest part of Alagaesia with the Forsworns was finally dead, he would've jumped with glee. And yet Shruikan, or Harry, was his friend now. He'd travelled with Eragon's company and helped them time and again. He'd even accompanied them to the Varden, even though he'd had to assume a false identity and endure being treated like a servant.

And now they owed him their lives.

"Are the Urgals… retreating?" Eragon squinted.

"Looks like it. They also seem to be fighting among themselves," Brom nodded, "We guessed that might happen if we weaken Durza enough. He was probably the one commanding them."

_'__So we've really won,' _Eragon realized.

_'__But at what price…'_

* * *

Hundreds of leagues away in Uru'baen, Galbatorix gasped as the sword on his belt suddenly disappeared.

_How by the Gods …?_

* * *

The three spirits that were Durza drifted.

Oh the humiliation of having to slit his own throat to escape! The process of dying, then floating around without a body, and then regeneration was decidedly one of the most excruciating pains that a Shade can experience. And he'd been forced to abandon his sword as well. He'd grown rather fond of it.

But he shall return.

_'__The last spell was a mistake. We underestimated them again.'_

_'__Indeed.' _

He really hadn't expected to encounter a shield anywhere near that strong – no matter if it was the young Rider deceptively working alone or if it was two people working together. And for that misjudgement he'd came much more close to dying for real than he would've liked.

_'__But who would've thought they'd have so much power? How many beings exist today that have enough power to rival ours?'_

_'__Exactly! The Riders just might, but Galbatorix killed off all of them except this one did he not?'_

_'__Apparently not.' _If there was one single benefit that came of his ill-considered use of an absolute spell, it was that he could finally know for sure that someone was aiding the young Rider. Durza was somewhat relieved by this conclusion. Of course the young Rider could not be cunning enough to compromise his wards using trickery like that. And it would've been just plain embarrassing if it turned out that he'd been duped into attacking thin air by a half-trained barely-a-man Rider for half the battle.

And judging by the power level of the spells and the fact that whoever rescued the young Rider was airborne, it would make sense that his second opponent was another Rider-dragon pair that had managed to escape Galbatorix's notice. It would also make sense that this Rider was knowledgeable enough in the magics to make himself invisible.

Durza would report this to Galbatorix. The King would probably get so angry that another Rider of the old order still lived that he'd forget to be angry at Durza for his failure. Should be funny.

But the next time Durza really must be more careful. He didn't get a chance to see what happened to the young Rider's protector – he didn't even have enough strength to raise his head after that last spell – so there was still a small possibility that his opponent survived.

_'__The opponent wears the shadows as if he's made of it…'_

_'__Ha! What a poetic description! Irony much?'_

_'__Whatever. We'll get both of the Riders in the end. Invisibility or not.'_

_'__Yes. They shall pay.'_

Now he just needed to wait to gain enough strength to get his body back.

* * *

Harry-Shruikan drifted.

He could see – well not quite _see._ He didn't exactly have eyes at the moment, or anything really. But he _knew_ that Durza had become disembodied for now, and that the Urgals were retreating after their ranks suffered severe losses due to different tribes turning on themselves.

And Saphira, Eragon, Brom and Murtagh were all alive and well.

_'__Was it worth it?' _asked one part of himself to the other.

_'__The benefits clearly outweigh the disadvantages.'_

Firstly it had been perfectly reasonable to expect the deflection to hold. In all likelihood this wouldn't have even happened. Durza should've stopped his attack upon feeling so much resistance. It was hardly in Durza's best interests to use an absolute spell, was it?

And he had not actually sacrificed himself by allowing himself to be hit. He knew he was probably not going to die. Like Durza, he was anchored to the realm of the living from the moment Galbatorix completed the ritual, so to say. His flight path had ensured that he wouldn't descend lower than he absolutely needed to cover Saphira, and the use of the deflection spell meant that his heart was well out of the way.

True, the disintegration of his body was undeniably excruciating, and he had a feeling that regeneration would be more unpleasant yet, but it was far more preferable compared to the permanent loss of his most crucial allies. It was a perfectly logical move on his part. Strategic, really.

_'__But did we consider all this before or after we made our choice?' _

_ '…'_

_'…'_

_'… __Surprising__?'_

_'__Yet perhaps not…'_

The sun rose, set, then rose and set again. He felt more or less ready to return.

Digging into his much-abused magic, Harry-Shruikan started to work on calling his body back together…


	27. Chapter 27

His senses returned to him in a flood of information. He didn't think he'd ever been so aware of the silver light of the moon, or the scent of pine, or the pressure of air against his body.

_Ah, that's right. I'm airborne_. _And falling, falling…_

Five tired beats of his wings saved him from being impaled on the tree tops. Deciding to play it safe, he transformed into Harry and all but tumbled into the forest floor.

_Whatever happened to coming back stronger? _

Well perhaps it may be somewhat true in Durza's case, in the sense that resurrection removes any injuries sustained on his previous body without diminishing his power or skills. But if there was supposed to be any _health benefits_ to dying, he certainly wasn't experiencing it.

He was alive again. He'd finally managed to wrangle together enough power to reconstitute a body and force his way into existence. But at the moment he was feeling anything but strong. His magic reserves, already ridiculously low due to his admittedly expensive decision to fight Durza through another, had been sapped even more in order to reassemble his body. The usually bright banks of power, yearning for release behind their dams, had been reduced to mere puddles in the vast expanse that they once occupied. It was highly disconcerting.

The safer thing to do would've been to wait a few more days – no, a few more weeks or months more like – to gather some more strength before returning. Unfortunately, unlike the bastard Durza, he didn't have that luxury. He needed to rejoin society while it was still feasible that he'd survived the battle. Any later and the only logical explanation for his continued presence would be the whole truth. It would've been too suspicious and would set him back a long way.

Every inch of his body ached as he pushed himself back onto his feet on the third try. It was as if there were ants attempting to nibble at him from the inside out. Which would be an unsettling image – those little creatures, devouring _him_? But then again, everything becomes food for worms when they die. No matter, no matter.

He did his best to ignore the pain, and instead focus on the moment he'd first seen Saphira in the distant skies. And cast his patronus:

_'__Death has decided that he does not want me just yet. I am outside Farthen Dur and will re-enter the mountain when ready.' _

He nearly stumbled again as he summoned his potion case and borrowed sword from where they lay scattered somewhere. His numb fingers attempted to hook the sword onto his belt, only to find a familiar sword already there.

Very interesting.

It seemed some good came of this ordeal for him after all. His own sword and wand, and along with it his full repertoire of spells, was back. The cracked resurrection stone gleamed dimly in the moonlight.

Galbatorix must be so _happy_.

He couldn't help but chuckle, then winced as his lungs protested violently. Another round of dizziness overcame him, forcing him to steady himself against a nearby tree. He thought the rough bark might've scraped his palm - he wasn't sure. Any stinging from that injury was such an insignificant drop in the ocean that it was the last of his worries. He wished dearly for a good, long nap, but he had to keep walking. If he returned to Tronjheim soon, hopefully they wouldn't ask him too many questions...

Then a voice spoke from somewhere, "So _that_'s what Galbatorix's last ritual on you was meant to do, isn't it? _Shade creation_?"

Harry hastily spun around, which proved to be a bad choice because he nearly lost his balance again. Looking up, he found Brom watching him rather dispassionately. And silently cursed his luck.

_Of course this is what I get for doing nice things. Ah, but what could I expect? A warm welcome and well wishes? No, worth it or not, this choice certainly didn't come cheap._

"So you did recognize it? I'd thought by the lack of interrogations that perhaps you didn't," He whispered, his throat and airway burning as he did. Who knew talking could take so much effort?

"I knew it had something to do with spirits, but I only figured it out when I saw you materializing out of the sky," Brom stepped closer, "Explains why your mind felt different and how you managed to survive _that_. I came out here to search for you, you know. We wanted to try to find you even though it would probably be too late. Who knew you need to be stabbed through the heart to die too?"

"Please stay where you are, Brom." Harry warned with as much volume as he could manage. He wasn't ready for a confrontation, not now when he could barely mount a proper defence. It would be a cosmic joke if he went through all that just to die at the hands of a former ally -

But Brom obliged, fortunately, and crossed his arms instead. "So, how many are you?"

"Two, just Harry and Shruikan here. During the ritual, Shruikan begged to keep his mind and Harry didn't like what Galbatorix was doing so he intervened -" he started to explain, but had to cover his mouth as a burst of coughing racked his body. His hand came away with blood – which he'd promptly vanished. It seemed his organs were not entirely stabilized yet… _Damn that bastard Durza. Hope he burns in hell_.

"I see," the old Rider said. His eyes had widened slightly, suggesting that the specks of red had not gone unnoticed. "You're in quite a state. Are Shades always this vulnerable after they resurrect?"

"Are you going to try to finish me off for good then? I'd try to persuade you to continue cooperating with me, but I've already exhausted my arguments." _Better not waste my breath when I have so little. Save it for a getaway._

Brom still did not move, and arched an eyebrow when Harry continued to watch him warily. Then, finally, the old mentor shook his head. "I'm _not_ going to kill you, Harry. I know you're not like the other ones. I'm quite sure _Durza_ would never throw himself in front of a spell to save anyone. You can have a little more faith in my intelligence, you know."

Really? Truly?

Harry gingerly straightened his back. "Good. I don't have much strength left to defend myself, but I do have enough to attack still." But he supposed it would be okay if he allowed Brom to come a bit closer…

"I'll take your words on that," Brom actually smiled thinly, "I don't think Eragon would react well to this news though. And when he realizes that you're not evil he'd want to give every Shade the doubt as well."

"I don't intend to tell him. Ostensibly I floated myself to the ground and used my potions to heal myself, a process that took three days. He wasn't able to find me because I, being paranoid, locked down my mental shields and didn't want to take chances. Saphira," Harry considered, "might be more sensible, but she would have to make sure Eragon doesn't know…"

"She was the most insistent that we keep searching for you, actually. I think she was refusing to believe you dead. She turned out to be right of course."

Indeed? He actually hadn't expected anyone to care so much… "… Then maybe. We'll see."

He supposed he should, to ensure that Saphira and Eragon didn't try anything foolish in the future. _But it wouldn't do to make her keep too many of my secrets. Children and hatchlings should not become my confessors._

Brom shrugged, and did not question him more. "You got your sword back, I see."

"Indeed," Harry nodded. Then, inspiration struck, and he used his newly regained transfiguration skills to turn his sword-wand into a convincing replica of the one borrowed from Jeod. He then shrunk Jeod's sword to the size of a brooch before pinning it safely into the inside of his belt. "Just in case," he told Brom who was watching him work with both eyebrows raised now.

"Speaking of swords," Harry suddenly realized, "did anybody take Durza's?"

"We left it exactly where he dropped it," Brom informed him, "Nobody will want to wield it and we didn't want to give him more incentive to come here, so we figured we'd let Galbatorix's spies sneak it off to him quietly."

"I'd like to keep it temporarily, then. I doubt Galbatorix would give him an army to invade us just to get his sword." A small plan was forming in the back of his head. He didn't know how effective it would be, but it would be worth a try.

"True, but in his current disembodied form he could travel anywhere without being stopped, couldn't he?"

"He could, but he wouldn't," Harry laughed. The world was spinning a bit again, but this time Brom came to his aid. "Immediately after he returns he'll want to ward himself into his bedroom and stay there. He won't be as drained as I am now, but fighting his way out of a fortified mountain is the last thing he'll want to do."

"We should get you back to Tronjheim."

Brom was offering him a hand, and Harry took it. "But first… I am rather hungry. I believe there's still Urgal corpses lying around – and before you chastise me again, it's the only thing that won't be missed. The only cattle around are owned by dwarves and it would take years to replenish my power reserves on _vegetables_."

"Fine," Brom grimaced with obvious disgust but acquiesced, "Are you sure it's a good idea though? In your current condition?"

"I don't think I have a choice."

"Fine. I'll wait for you here then."

Harry carefully stepped away from the trees before transforming again. Shaking his massive wings open, he prepared to take off.

"And Shruikan? Thank you. For not letting me crash and for… well, saving them. I mean, we can't afford to lose them."

_'__With that, friend, I wholeheartedly agree.'_

* * *

"The Rider and Brom confronted Durza outside Farthen Dur as planned, my king. It appears that Durza was defeated."

"Yes, I can see that," Galbatorix drawled. _The Shade played too much once again - and lost me a whole Urgal army too! Surely it could not be so difficult to capture one boy Rider…? _"Have you found out how that happened?"

"Er…N-no, my king, our apologies. We asked around, but t-the soldiers had no idea that a Shade was even present in the battle. They only knew that the Rider was fighting the invading forces outside the mountain. The council of elders knew naught except for Ajihad, but Ajihad was carefully tight-lipped! The Rider's own party didn't breathe a word about it to anyone either. We even tried to goad the Rider into telling us by insinuating that he did nothing during the battle, but he just ignored us!"

"Fine," Galbatorix waved them off, "continue your report."

"Y-yes, my king. Soldiers are singing about how the elf and another woman cut down a circle of enemy in a few blinks of the eye. We, er, looked for opportunities to incapacitate them but they were both very good. They were both powerful mages and they never –"

"Spare me your excuses and continue. You are trying my patience."

"Yes, yes of course my king! Siloam, the young commander, is fairly well-received among the ranks now. Apparently his group fought valiantly and only lost one. Everyone else under his command suffered non-fatal injuries and are being treated."

"Were they given a spellcaster?"

"Yes, but she was a wimpy girl who used to be Du Vrangr Gata's scullery maid before those duties were reassigned to Hari."

"Indeed…" So Siloam proved to be a decent commander. Clearly the Varden were testing him, and clearly he was passing with flying colours. "And what of the last member of the Rider's companions?"

"Hari was given some task to do by the Rider, according to Ajihad, but we were not told what. Du Vrangr Gata believes he was outside Farthen Dur for some reason. He has not returned to his duties or returned to his quarters as of yet after the battle. We will make sure to assign him more chores as punishment once he returns, of course - "

"You fools! Have I not told you not to underestimate him? He and Brom were both there to protect the Rider from Durza!" Outside Farthen Dur for _some reason_? Ha!

But he had not returned to the city with the Rider and the old mentor. Dead? Incapacitated? Or preoccupied?

"M-my king, we don't understand! Why do you believe –"

"Silence!" Galbatorix slammed his palm onto the table bearing the scrying bowl. The impertinent fools shivered and shrunk back immediately, their previous courage lost. "Listen carefully. He is not a simple escaped slave. If Hari returns to Tronjheim, you are to watch him closely, as closely as you would watch the Rider. And if you disobey me, or dare question my judgement again, I will have your heads. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, of course my king! We are yours to command!"

Replacing the anti-scrying wards, Galbatorix leaned back into his grand throne and thought. It seemed that he'd been blindsided. The Rider's party had been underestimated by both his spies, his lieutenant, and himself? No. Not himself. He had guesses that Hari, Mister invisible, may have been deliberately making himself appear less than he actually was – and now he knew for certain. But it still didn't answer the question of who he was.

And then there was the matter of just what trickery they'd done to steal the sword back, and just what the significance of the sword was. It was not a new blade, as the crack on the gem was testament to, but it was clearly magical and well made – even as strong as a Rider's sword, he would say.

A Rider's sword? It was not the usual style. But perhaps…?

Galbatorix's lips twisted into a cruel snarl. Durza better have some answers for him when he returns, or the Shade would have _quite a bit_ to look forward to.


End file.
